


Cherry Club

by smuttytaelien



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Barebacking, Bottom Lee Minho | Lee Know, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lee Felix & Lee Minho | Lee Know are Best Friends, M/M, Minor Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Minor Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, Rape, Rapper Han Jisung | Han, Rapper Seo Changbin, Recovery, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Sugar Daddy, Top Han Jisung | Han, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttytaelien/pseuds/smuttytaelien
Summary: Minho is Jisung's favorite dancer.It's crazy how one purple car, a fist fight, and a strip club helped Jisung find the love of his life.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

Minho used to laugh at exotic dancers, shame strippers. He never thought he would find himself walking to the Cherry Club with his work outfit stuffed in a suspiciously large duffel bag, head hung low so no one noticed the diamonds clinging to his eyelids. Minho wasn't a stripper, per se, seeing as his clothes always stayed on during his performances. He couldn't say the same for what happened after, though. He had his favorite clients, the ones that showed up just for him on the four nights he worked and paid extra for his pretty mouth to run across their body.

The strobe lights made his dark eyes twinkle with excitement, and he quickly shuffled to the front of the long line, flashing his ID to the bouncer who ushered him in without another word. The bouncer didn't talk much to any of the dancers, besides Felix, who, surprisingly enough, was the buff man's boyfriend. Minho wondered how Changbin felt about Felix dancing for dozens of other men, but never asked.

Minho slipped through the crowds of handsy men and groups of women, probably coming to the club for a bachelorette party, and knocked on the door behind the bar. Felix opened it, already decked out in a schoolgirl shirt and matching blouse.

"Jesus, Lix. They're still having you as an innocent schoolgirl?" Minho commented after shutting the door silently behind him. No one would be able to hear it over the music that could send someone's heart into cardiac arrest, but Minho always made an effort to be courteous.

Felix groaned and picked at the extremely short hem of his pleated skirt. "Yes, and I hate it. How come you get to pick your outfits and I don't?" Felix pouted, and Minho cooed at his younger best friend.

"Probably because you would choose a sweater and sweatpants." Minho slipped his jacket off his shoulders and threw it into his locker, decorated with cat stickers and sticky note reminders.

"I can't help it, Min. Changbin hates my job, and I hate when he's angry."

Minho hummed, pulling his stained graphic tee over his head and shoving it in with the rest of his wrinkled clothes. Being completely naked in front of Felix wasn't unusual, but it still made him insecure every time. He quickly pulled his leather shorts over his bare bottom, ignoring the sting of leather against sensitive skin. He tucked the see-through pink shirt into the shorts, liking the way the audience could see his nipple rings and slim waist. Almost all of the dancers were slim, but the club usually brought in a few muscled men just to spice up the variety. Minho and Felix fell more into the "bratty twink" category with their tiny waists and pretty faces.

"Oh my god, Min, did you hear who's playing tonight?" Felix suddenly asked, eyes bright with excitement. Minho raised an eyebrow at his friend's behavior and shook his head, brushing away the small strands of chestnut hair that fell across his eyes. "3racha is!"

"Isn't that Changbin's group?" Felix nodded. "How the hell did you convince Boss to let them play?" Minho threw his duffel bag in his locker and shut it.

Felix grimaced at the question, and Minho's jaw dropped.

"Holy shit, Lee Felix! Did you sleep with him? Changbin will kill him!" Minho smacked the Australians arm weakly, just enough to make him flinch.

"I absolutely did not! I said I would if they sucked, though, so they better do good. Boss has a hideous dick, I know it."

Minho shuddered at the mental image and shot Felix a sympathetic smile. "I will pray for your ass, Lixie."

"How reassuring," Felix mumbled, following Minho into the bustling crowd. They entered the door leading backstage and waited for their cue. Woojin, their manager, was running around with his clipboard clutched so tightly Minho swore it would snap. He was the epitome of stressed, hair slicked back from how often he brushed his fingers through it, and lips pulled into a frown that was sure to cause wrinkles later in life.

"Minho, you're going on after they announce 3racha, alright? Same for you Felix, but you take the left stage," Woojin hastily explained, checking something off on his growing list of responsibilities. The two nodded their compliance and Woojin shuffled away, presumably to inform 3racha of their positions. Most special guests performed on the center stage, while the dancers usually took the right or the left stage to be closer to the crowd, and in turn, closer to the money.

Felix tapped his heels against the ground as they waited, creating a sporadic rhythm that calmed Minho's nerves. The mic crackled to life, and the announcer, a young boy named Jeongin, began the introductions. Felix gave Minho a brief hug and dashed to the left of the stage, leaving Minho alone.

"Tonight we have a very special performance for you all! Please welcome 3racha to the stage!" Minho inhaled, exhaled, and walked onto the long stage. His combat boots made no sound as he strutted down the walkway, legs shimmering under the lights from the sheer amount of sliver glitter he rubbed over his tan body.

"3racha will be joined by Cherry's Princess, Felix!"

The cheers were joined by wolf-whistles and clapping, and Minho hid his smile with a dip of his head. He knew Felix was eating up the attention, and he knew Changbin was fuming. Minho grabbed the pole in front of him, melting into the familiar cool sensation of metal on heated skin. He stood in front of it with his ass pressed against the pole, waiting for his turn to pose.

"And Cherry's favorite Kitten, Minho!"

He slut-dropped before standing back up, hands dragging across his legs and teasing at his shorts. Minho knew he was a fan favorite, but the deafening applause never failed to make him blush. A few eager men reached over to toss money by his feet, and he took it with a sultry sway of his hips.

3racha began their performance with an upbeat hip-hop track whose bass shook Minho's entire body. The girls swooned when the blondest member reached down and asked one girl if she had a boyfriend. Minho laughed a bit, and he saw Felix do the same. Minho swung his leg around the pole and spun in idle circles, occasionally feeling up his torso in a way that made the older men drool. He stopped his spins and dropped into a split, twerking against the ground with his tongue hanging obscenely from his mouth. He was practically swimming in dollar bills when the first song ended, combat boots filled to the brim with green.

Minho almost fell off the stage laughing when Changbin growled into the mic during their second song, but caught himself and played it off by grabbing a shy younger boy by his collar. He briefly felt up the boy's hard chest, hearing him moan under his touch, and backed away. Minho rubbed against the pole sensually, completely contrasting the high-paced song. Minho remembered Felix telling him that 3racha was playing five songs, and decided to play around during the last two. He continued to tease the audience, allowing some to shove wads of cash down his shorts and flick at his nipples.

The third song was much shorter than the rest and Minho began to zone out. He could feel the eyes cascading down his body, the jealous stares and lustful smirks, but he was surprised to feel somebody's stare on his back. He glanced around and found the blonde's eyes locked with his, staring almost bashfully. Minho smiled at the rapper and tapped his lips in a questioning manner. The rapper flushed and looked away. He was cute, with chubby cheeks and pouty lips that Minho wanted to smooch. The bass faded, and Minho brought his dancing further towards the center stage, not forgetting to collect the tips thrown his way.

The next song was slower, and Minho used it to his advantage. The blonde rapper had switched from fast rap to soft singing, and Minho was surprised at the beautiful timbre of his voice. Minho stayed in his spot until the song ended. Thankfully, the final song fit back into their hard hip-hop agenda. He made it to the center stage with a teasing smile, winking at the crowd and hearing them yell his name. The blonde rapper turned around to investigate the commotion and caught Minho's fiery gaze. He lifted his glittery mic to his lips and rapped, stepping closer to the dancer with each syllable. When his part was over, he was chest to chest with Minho, and the dancer was delighted to find out he was taller.

He grabbed the blonde by the waist and spun them so Minho's back faced the audience. His shorts were considerably higher than they were when the performance first began, ass on display for the thirsty tenants. His fingers tangled in the rapper's hair and pulled his head to the side so he could lick a stripe across his neck. Minho slowly dropped, hands rubbing over the rapper's chest and across the front of his skinny jeans. Minho nosed at the rappers dick before spinning to face the crowd. He stood, making sure to press against the blonde, and leaned into his body. One of the rapper's hands fell to his waist, the other holding tightly to his mic as he rapped. Minho kissed the vein that protruded from his neck and slipped from his hold. He brushed his hand teasingly along Changbin's chiseled chest as he walked back to his pole.

"And that is it for tonight's guest, 3racha!" Jeongin yelled. "Please give a round of applause for your dancers, Minho and Felix!" The crowd applauded, and money flew. When the lights faded, Minho grabbed as much cash as he could carry and left the stage. Hyunjin was already waiting when he left, and he gave the boy a simple nod before going to find Felix.

"Lee Minho, I'm going to kill you," Changbin hissed when he passed the 3racha dressing room. The door was cracked open enough for Changbin to grab Minho by his shorts and drag him into the room, throwing him onto the couches. Minho yelped at the pain that shot through his tailbone from hitting the wooden frame and glared at the bouncer.

"What did I do?"

"You know exactly what you did, kitten," Changbin spat the last word with so much venom that Minho almost flinched. "You are not allowed to touch me."

Minho rolled his eyes. "Oh please, Felix doesn't care. And it's not like I grabbed your dick, asshole. Maybe you should care more about all the guys probably trying to take Felix to the private rooms and less about me."

Changbin growled, and he probably would have strangled Minho if the cute blonde rapper hadn't grabbed his arm. Changbin shrugged him off with narrowed eyes and stormed from the dressing room. Minho scoffed at his immaturity and stood to leave the room, but a hand on his waist pulled him back, and he stumbled into a warm torso.

"Kitten, huh? I'm Jisung, and it would be a real shame if you didn't come home with me tonight," the voice whispered. Minho purred at the soft press of lips against his pulse and melted further into the embrace. The kisses trailed down to the junction between his neck and shoulder, occasionally nipping at the skin.

"My stuff," Minho mumbled half-heartedly, his mind hazy with lust. Jisung hummed in confusion. "I need my stuff."

"Go on, kitten. I'll be waiting for you at the entrance." Jisung pushed him away with a slap to his ass, the flesh jiggling under the shorts. Minho rushed to the locker room, nearly slamming into a distraught Felix.

"Lixie? What's wrong, baby?" Minho sat down by his best friend, discarding his shoes and grabbing the money hiding in the soles.

"I'm okay, Min. I just need to talk to Changbin."

Minho studied Felix's flushed cheeks and foggy eyes and decided he was not okay. "Are you sure, Lix? I can stay if you need me."

"I'm sure. Go with Jisung."

Minho packed his bag uncertainly, throwing his jacket over his torso and zipping it to cover his outfit. He pulled the hem of his shorts further over his butt and tossed his money deep within the confines of his duffel bag. He left the club after pressing a tender kiss to Felix's forehead, seeing Jisung outside. The man leaned against a cherry red sports car, idly scrolling through his overly priced phone. Minho wrapped his hands around the rapper's waist and watched as he answered his messages.

Jisung pocketed his phone and opened the passenger door for Minho. The dancer stared in awe as the door swung upwards instead of outwards. He felt like he was in a live-action Fast and Furious movie, with expensive cars and cute boys. Jisung drove off with one hand on the clutch and the other on the steering wheel, switching gears every so often and making Minho gasp.

"You like it?" Jisung chuckled when he noticed Minho's fascination.

"Like it? This car is amazing, Sungie." Minho gently grazed his fingers across the lighted controls.

"You can touch it, you know."

Minho's head snapped in his direction. "Can I really?"

"Go ahead, baby."

Minho pushed the button closest to him and a small square-shaped section of the roof opened. "Oh fuck, Jisung. I think I broke your car."

Jisung shook his head with a smile. "It's a sunroof, sweetheart. It's supposed to open."

Minho barely registered where Jisung was taking him, invested solely in the intricacies of Jisung's expensive car. He jumped when Jisung's door shut, and hastily clambered from the car to catch up with him. They were in some sort of garage, and Minho almost passed out at the ten other colorful cars that greeted him. He would have stared the entire night if Jisung didn't gently lead him to the door, hand caressing Minho's lower back. Minho didn't have time to marvel at the vast expanse of the house he was brought to before Jisung's lips were on his body, marking every part of skin he could reach.

He fell back onto a soft bed, and Jisung climbed over him, pressing his dick against Minho's and grinding slowly. Their lips connected in a messy dance of tongue and teeth and Minho felt himself harden in his shorts. He reached his hand down to unbutton Jisung's jeans, immediately pushing them down and grabbing his erection. He was bigger than Minho, for sure, maybe even bigger than Changbin, and Minho moaned lowly.

"Let me take these off of you, kitten," Jisung mumbled against his lips, hands tugging at the waistband of Minho's shorts. Minho lifted his hips for Jisung to slip the annoying fabric off, along with the lacy thong he had underneath.

"Want your shirt off," Minho whined, rutting his hips against Jisung's thigh. The blonde complied, slipping his shirt over his head and pulling his pants fully off. Jisung's cock sprung back to slap against his toned stomach, and Minho leaned forward, licking around the swollen head.

Jisung's hands buried themselves in Minho's hair, forcing the man further down his cock. Minho had never been so grateful to not have a gag reflex when Jisung's tip grazed the back of his throat. Minho bobbed his head slowly, teasing Jisung with his hands fondling his balls and drinking up the precome that bubbled from his slit.

"Fuck, Minho. You're such a good boy for me."

Minho moaned at the praise and Jisung's last string of self control snapped. He thrusted into the warm heat of Minho's mouth, feeling the dancer exhale against his stomach, and repeated his motions. He was seconds away from cumming down Minho's throat when he was pushed away.

"Want you to fuck me, Sungie. Want you in me, please," Minho begged, wiggling his ass in the air.

"Anything for you, princess."

Jisung climbed onto the bed behind Minho, kissing along the arch of his spine and gently kneading his ass cheeks. He kissed over the puckered hole and chuckled as it fluttered around nothing. Jisung reached over to grab the lube he stored in his bedside table and smeared it over his fingers. Minho shuddered at the cold liquid rubbing along his entrance, but his shiver turned into a wanton moan when Jisung pushed a finger past his rim.

"God, you're so tight, gonna make me feel so good, baby."

Minho whimpered and pushed back to grind against Jisung's finger. The rapper took that as a sign to continue and began to gently scissor Minho's hole.

"Sungie, please, want more."

"Aw, look at you, falling apart on my fingers like the dumb puppy you are. Don't worry, baby, Masters gonna make you feel good."

Minho lazily fucked back on Jisung's fingers, wincing at the stretch. He whined when Jisung left, his hole clenching desperately. Jisung slapped his ass with a laugh and grabbed a condom from the box in his drawer. He was about to open the wrapper when Minho grabbed his wrist.

"Want you raw, Master. 'M clean, I promise."

Jisung groaned at Minho's words and pulled the man into a searing kiss that left them both panting. Jisung stroked his cock a few times and gently guided the head to Minho's hole. He pushed in without much resistance, and slowly inched his way into the heat. He was halfway down the shaft before Minho hissed beneath him, clenching down on his cock.

"Sorry, baby." Jisung kissed his back apologetically and waited for Minho to adjust to his lengthy girth. When the dancer nodded, Jisung pushed all the way to the hilt, completely sheathed inside the addictive warmth of Minho's body.

"Fuck me, Master, please."

Jisung thrusted deep and slow, pressing hard against Minho's prostate. His balls slapped against Minho's ass with each move, and he groaned at the pleasure that tore through his veins.

"Faster, please, please, please. I'll be your good boy," Minho pleaded, drooling onto the covers and dick leaking.

Jisung sped up his pace, his headboard slamming against the wall. Minho was practically lifeless beneath him, his own pretty little sex doll, pliant and beautiful. He wanted to see Minho's fucked out face when he came inside the man, claiming him inside and out. He pulled out and flipped Minho onto his back, pushing in and forcing Minho's legs towards his chest. Jisung leaned down to suck on Minho's nipples, enjoying the cool metal on his tongue.

"Puppy wants his masters cum, please," Minho whined, hand fisting at his own cock as he neared his climax.

"Daddy's gonna breed his puppy like the good bitch he is." Jisung growled, biting down on Minho's shoulder as he came deep inside Minho's ass.

The warmth flooding his insides sent Minho over the edge, and with one last tug at his dick, Minho spilled over his chest. Jisung stayed inside Minho, shallowly thrusting to ride out his high until Minho began to writhe from exertion. He pulled his softening cock out of Minho and watched the cum leak onto his bedsheets.

Minho's chest was heaving, eyes hazy and body stained with cum. He briefly registered Jisung's soothing voice and the drag of a cloth across his chest before he fell asleep.


	2. two

Jisung woke up far too early for a weekend. In his haste to remove Minho's clothes, he had forgotten to turn off his 6 am alarm. So there he sat, Hyunjin-sized coffee cup in his hands and eyes droopy from how little he slept. Jisung was usually against any drinks on his bed, having learned from one too many spilled hot chocolates and energy drinks. He could barely see the newest chocolate stain under Minho's lax body, and he mentally noted to switch out his sheets. God, he hoped Minho hadn't noticed the scattered chip wrappers and dirty clothes thrown across his spacious bedroom. Despite only knowing him for a night, Jisung could tell Minho was the clean type, somewhere between Jisung's messy and Chan's neat-freak. 

A quick google search told Jisung that the sun wasn't set to fully rise for another thirty minutes, but he thought the gentle rays of shy sunshine slipping through his cracked blinds made Minho's skin glow. He looked something akin to an angel in Jisung's old white tee, with his body covered in shimmery glitter. The temptation to reach out and touch the small specs that littered Minho's toned legs was poking at the back of his head like a knife, and with cautious fingers, he reached. He barely grazed the slope of Minho's knee before the dancer was grumbling awake, hands swatting at the ticklish feeling he hadn't yet registered as Jisung.

"Good morning, sunshine. Aren't you just the prettiest thing to wake up too?" Jisung chuckled, flicking away Minho's ruffled hair to meet his sleepy eyes. The sunlight made them twinkle in a way that screamed innocence, and the contrast between daytime Minho and nighttime Minho made his heart heavy. He couldn't imagine what horrible men Minho encountered during his job. His feelings were heightened when Minho shot up, throwing the covers from his body and staggering to his feet. He muttered curses as he tried to distinguish his clothes from Jisung's mess, and Jisung took the opportunity to pull him closer. 

"Woah, calm down there, tiger. Where do you think you're going at six in the morning?" 

Minho's tense shoulders softened in his hold, a deep sigh racking his shaken form. "I had a good time last night, I really did. But I'm supposed to be gone, Sungie. I've had too many angry wives curse me out, which is dumb, because I'm single and their husbands were not," Minho grumbled as he remembered some of his encounters with hurt women and stiletoes. "I need to go." 

Jisung tutted and tightened his grip on Minho's waist. "You're not going anywhere until you get every teeny tiny spec of glitter off you." Minho, for the first time that morning, seemed to realize his less-than-attractive appearance and grimaced at the rough texture of glitter on his legs. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and completely caved into Jisung's request when his hand came back with a dark combination of caking mascara and eyeliner. "I'll take that as a very happy yes." Jisung smiled, tossing a towel in Minho's direction. "I have clothes if you need some, but I didn't want to dig around in your bag last night, so sorry about the-" Jisung waved a hand at the tattered clothes the dancer was wearing. "You know."

"Sungie, I can't thank you enough." Minho pulled at the torn strings hanging from the blue-stained towel, courteousy of Jisung's love for spontaneous hair colors. 

"Actually, you can. Come with me on one date, just one. And if you absolutely hate it, I'll leave you alone." 

Minho reeled at the offer, dropping the towel and blushing a beautiful cherry red. He was used to date offers, the usual cheesy confessions, thousands of compliments from his clients, but never had he been asked on a date by someone he slept with first. Minho was nothing more than a good fuck to the men at the club, and they certainly didn't want to take him out in public. Minho was everyone's dirty little secret, and his insecurities began to speak for him until he caught Jisung's curious gaze. Jisung, he reminded himself, was not an older man with too much cash and an annoying wife. Jisung was sincere, gentle, charming in his own boyish way. 

With a halfhearted sigh, Minho agreed. "One date, you get one date." 

Jisung beamed at the statement, jumping up to press a soft kiss to Minho's parted lips and usher him into the bathroom. Hearing the water in his bathroom simmer to life, Jisung rushed to change out of his boxers and into something more suitable for brunch. Jisung wondered if Minho preferred roses or tulips, dinner or lunch, was his favorite color the same purple shade that stained his eyelids? Minho was an enigma, and Jisung was excited to piece him together, from the hesitancy in his eyes to the soft shuffle of his feet on the stage. 

But first, convincing Minho to join him for brunch with his friends. 

The shower came to a sudden stop, and minutes later, Minho stepped from the foggy room. Steam flooded the house, curling around Minho's bare ankles and tickling his leg hair. He had a creme sweater hanging loosely from his shoulders, hands engulfed in adorable sweater paws. His pants were a ripped black denim, clinging to him like a second skin. 

"Jeez, were you cold?" Jisung flicked the switch to the fan as he stepped into the bathroom, and Minho laughed uneasily but didn't respond. Jisung shrugged off his avoidance in favor of scrubbing the morning breath from his mouth with his charcoal toothpaste. Hyunjin used it, and Hyunjin's smile had the blinding whiteness of a toothbrush model, so it was bound to work. "Do you need a toothbrush, baby?" Jisung gurgled around the object in his mouth. 

"Yes, please!" Minho called back, throwing Jisung's dirty clothes into the broken hamper by his window and joining the blonde in the bathroom. The situation was oddly domestic, with their shoulders clashing and hips bumping when Jisung leaned down to spit out his toothpaste. Normally, Minho would do his makeup, but seeing as the mirror did not want to unfog, he left his face natural. 

"I want you to come with me today," Jisung announced when Minho settled down at the living room table, a cute coffee mug in his hands. Minho raised an eyebrow and sipped at the scalding liquid in hopes of clearing the stupor from his exhausted mind. "My friends are having brunch at IHOP, and I want you there." 

The idea of interacting with more people made Minho a bit queasy, but he hid it well. "And who does that include?" 

"Well, you know Changbin, Chan, and Felix, so I don't think it'll be too awkward." 

"And the people I don't know?" 

Jisung tapped his fingers against the table, once, twice. "Bambam, Chan's friend, and Hyunjin." 

Minho scoffed at the second name listed. "I know Hyunjin, silly. He works at the club." Jisung grinned and slowly shook his head. 

"You don't know the Hyunjin I know, I promise you." 

Minho took a drink, Jisung tapped his fingers to a beat only he heard, and the conversation awkwardly tapered off. The sun rose completely, light pooling into the kitchen so violently Jisung almost stood up to close the blinds. Minho didn't seem fazed, too deep in his mind. At last, he blinked to awareness, squinting at the sunlight. 

"I'll come, on one condition." Minho waggled a finger in Jisung's pleased face, tone teasing. 

"Anything you want, princess." 

Minho flushed momentarily at the words he heard last night and smacked Jisung's wrist in retaliation. "I get to sit next to Felix, and you can not say I agreed to go on a date with you." 

Jisung pouted at the last request but agreed regardless, and the two sat basking in the heat of the morning until the stove clock read 11:37 am. By 11:45, Minho was standing in Jisung's humongous underground parking garage, waiting for Jisung to finish pulling his Vans on. 

"Alright, Min. You can choose our car today," Jisung proposed. Minho knew nothing about cars, nothing about fancy sounds or crazy upwards opening doors. What he did know is that he adored the color purple and Jisung had a shiny magenta car that was calling his name. 

"I want the purple one, please?" 

Jisung nodded and grabbed a pair of keys from his (surprisingly) labeled key rack, pressing unlock and guiding Minho towards the car. He opened the door, outwards, thank god, and buckled Minho in with a smile that was both attractive and irritating. Jisung slid into the seat beside him and revved the engine. Similar to his other car, the buttons were illuminated and ever-so-shiny, but the seats weren't worn down or cracked. He learned the car was a Bugatti Chiron worth almost three million, and that it was a gift from Chan for Jisung's twentieth birthday. 

"Why not your 21st?" Minho asked, fidgetting with what he thought were the air controls. Jisung saw his struggle and smacked his hand away to properly turn on the air. 

"Because I'm only 20." 

Minho froze, blinked a few times, and promptly shrieked. "Holy shit, Jisung! You weren't even supposed to be at Cherry's last night." 

Jisung wiggled his eyebrows. "Nope, I was not. How old are you?" 

"Old enough to be there, that's for sure." 

"Oh come on, you can't tell me every one that works there is of age," Jisung scoffed. 

"The youngest is Jeongin, he's nineteen. But the youngest dancer is Hyunjin." 

They approached a red light, and Jisung glanced over at Minho while gently intertwining their fingers. He looked gorgeous even under street lights, and Jisung blessed the Gods he got to hold his hand. 

"Your boss doesn't like the younger ones?" Jisung questioned, pulling into the IHOP parking lot. It was almost ironic to see Jisung's three million dollar car in front of such a trashy restaurant, but also weirdly endearing. 

Minho's wince went unnoticed by Jisung. "No, he prefers... older dancers." 

The conversation ended when Felix skipped his way to the passenger door and slammed his face against the tinted windows, childishly licking at the glass and making Minho giggle. The second the door opened, Minho was pressed against his best friend, his grip on the Australian's shoulders bordering deadly. Jisung watched from the opposite side, doing his handshake with Changbin who was fuming at the diversion in Felix's attention. 

"Lighten up, Bin. You know he was right," Jisung scolded his friend. Changbin continued to scowl, and Jisung could do nothing more than roll his eyes and hope the others were in a better mood. 

Hyunjin greeted them with quick hugs, Chan opting for a lazy smile. Minho, true to Jisung's assumptions, was caught off guard by Hyunjin's affections. Hyunjin was a sexual beast on the dance floor but bathed in the hideous florescent iHOP lights, he looked innocent. Minho sat between Felix and Hyunjin, with Jisung playfully kicking his feet across from him. Changbin was fiddling with his phone at the head of the table, with Chan and Bambam flanking Jisung's left and right. 

"Channie, you'll never guess what I did yesterday," Hyunjin whined, swirling his lemonade with a neon green straw. Chan hummed sleepily. "I dropped my AirPods in the toilet again." 

Again? Minho thought. Again meant Hyunjin owned more than two pairs of AirPods in his life and was careless enough to drop the expensive products in his toilet. 

"Really? This is your fifth time," Chan reprimanded. 

Minho choked on his water, hacking immediately at the stinging sensation in his airways. His late-night wishful shopping sprees told him that AirPods were almost one hundred dollars, which meant Hyunjin dropped five hundred dollars down the toilet, regularly. He shouldn't have been so surprised, especially after riding in million-dollar cars, but the thought that Hyunjin was well off and not a desperate dancer shaking his ass for a dollar shocked him. Most of the club workers were lower middle class or poor, hardly ever rich. 

"You okay, Minho?" Hyunjin asked, handing him a napkin. Minho nodded weakly and waved away his concern. "I need to send Sana to the Apple Store anyway. My MacBook charger is missing." 

"I think I have it," Jisung admitted, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Hyunjin glared at the rapper for a moment before slapping his shoulder, nearly spilling every drink on the table in his haste. 

"Well give it back, loser." 

"I will, nerd." 

Minho chuckled fondly at the bickering pair, glancing around the small restaurant and occasionally reading over the menu as if he hadn't already chosen his meal. A gentle tap on his shoulder brought his gaze to Bambam, who had been silent up until that point. 

"Hi, I'm Bambam." He stuck out a calloused hand, and Minho shook it, introducing himself as well. The table was oblivious to their conversation, absorbed in playful banter and music talk. "So, how do you know Jisung?" 

Minho swallowed nervously. "We, um, met at one of his gigs?" He winced at the questioning lilt of his voice, hoping Bambam wouldn't comment. He didn't, but Minho knew he was curious. 

"Oh? The one at the Cherry Club?"

Minho nodded, becoming uncomfortable under Bambam's scrutinizing gaze. The man leaned further over the table, and Minho subconsciously leaned back. Bambam licked his lips and smirked.

"What's a pretty boy like you doing all alone at the club?" 

Minho's uncomfortable grin hardened to a frown. Bambam's eyes were predatory as they ran down Minho's torso, lingering at his glossy lips. Minho saw Jisung tense beside Bambam, the conversations fading with Jisung's silence.

"I work there," he simply responded. 

"Jisungie got himself a bartender? The kid will be slammed for days." Bambam laughed and bumped shoulders with Jisung, who was thoroughly unamused by his spectacle. 

"No, I'm a dancer." 

Bambam stopped laughing. "What? Like some kind of stripper?" 

"My clothes stay on during performances, so no." 

Hyunjin and Felix were rigid as boards, not used to openly discussing their job with outsiders. They knew how much Minho despised the 's' word. Felix placed his tiny hand on Minho's knee, patting twice in a soundless reassurance that at least they understood Minho's job. 

"And what about after?" 

Minho was silent. 

Bambam turned to Jisung then, completely relaxed and unaware of how eagerly Jisung wanted to decorate his smug face in dark bruises. "How much you paying, Jisung? I want a turn." 

Minho slammed the door shut on his way out of the restaurant. 


	3. three

[ Your phone does not make you poor, off-brand clothes do not make you broke. Money does not determine your worth as a human being, and will never do so. You are not less than someone because you cannot afford the newest iPhone, or you don't live in the "safest" neighborhood. Do not let the world's idea of "wealth" ruin your self-worth. The richest hearts are not made from money ~<3 ]

Minho walked briskly, shoes slapping the pavement in tearful haste. He wanted to be as far away from iHOP as possible, preferably halfway across the country, where no one could find him, especially not Jisung. Despite Jisung not being the person to ask the insulting question, Minho was still angry. The man was as guilty as Bambam for ignoring the comment, for dismissing how crude his friend is, and leaving Minho defenseless. 

He turned onto Barker St. and clutched his phone closer to his chest. The fluffy case tickled his chin with each step, earbuds dangling by his side. Minho bought his crappy andriod two years ago from a Craigslist ad. At that time, he was working in a small dance studio as an instructor for the younger kids. The pay was awful, way below minimum wage, but the boss was a kind elderly man who put all of his retirement money into the old brick building. Minho didn't care much about the salary, as long as he was dancing. Dancing was Minho's everything. He found comfort in the aches and pains of long nights, in the tapping of his shoes against the linoleum. He became familiar with his dancing style in the cracking mirrors that spanned one of the walls. 

Minho flourished in that building. 

He did his dance classes every night after a morning's worth of college classes, ready to collapse but never doing so. Then he'd stumble his way back to his mother's basement and pass out on his mattress. His mother never cared for his dancing dreams, found them unrealistic. The day Minho was accepted into the Seoul Institute of the Arts, he left his mother's house, hoping to never come in contact with the bitter woman ever again. He bought his very first phone with his dance salary, bid his generous boss goodbye, and left. Minho had a habit of leaving. 

Barker Street was a narrow stretch of too many people and not enough houses. Children roamed the streets, cigarettes in pockets and guns under belts. Adults were no different. Everyone was on high alert. Who would shoot first? What dope deal would fall flat? Is your neighbor a rapist or a dealer? Some were both. Minho loved and hated Barker Street. It was the bittersweet truth of home.

His apartment was halfway down the block, stuck between a ratty convenience store and dozens of other identical apartment buildings. The sole reason Minho recognized his building (despite force of habit) was from the giant graffiti painting of a lion next to the entrance. 

Graffiti littered the ground he walked on, the buildings he shopped in. Each piece was carefully crafted to be seen, but not be claimed. Minho took a quick liking to the lion on his building, and vaguely recognized the artist's other quirky animal drawings around the city, from peacocks to puppies. Minho had a certain fondness for street artists. They learned to master the swift flick of paint can from trial and error. They fucked up paintings and made better ones elsewhere. They learned to cover their faces, make a statement, and be nameless. Minho had learned dance the same way. 

His mother's house was old, caving, and filled with drugs no child should know the name of. Minho's mother found escape in the clingy fog and quick sniff of powder, but Minho found escape in the streets of Seoul. When the smoke got too strong, or the men too loud, Minho slipped from his broken window, careful to avoid getting another scar from the glass shards, and took to the streets. Every night, without fail, the street performers danced. Minho watched, learned, tried, fucked up, repeated, and mastered. His mother eventually caught him, boarding up his window with tacky nails that sometimes clattered to the floor, but it was too late. Dancing was already in his blood, his mind, infecting every cell until he could plie on command. 

The dangers of Barker Street constantly lingered in alleyways and store corners, but it was significantly stinted in broad daylight. Minho was thankful to be walking home with the sun on his back and unobscured vision. He could vaguely see the jutting roof of his apartment building from where he was and sighed. One year ago, a comment as harsh as Bambam's would have him drunk, dancing on his rooftop. Now, even working in a club, alcohol was taboo for him. 

Going to an elite arts college for dance had humbled him greatly. His once limitless ego was forced into submission by dancers with years of intense training, unlike the pitful street boy who fought daily to keep his scholarship. Sometime in the second semester, his fight dulled, and the drinks increased. Losing his scholarship sent him over the edge into a pit of hazy drunken nights and days of endless smoking just to feel anything. The pain was sickening but being numb, Minho discovered, was worse than any heartache. His job at the club helped him fight his addiction, but his tongue still yearned for the burn of whiskey, especially during days like this. 

"Han Jisung, what have you done to me?" Minho mumbled as he switched the song on his very legally downloaded playlist. A moment of vulnerability had him shaking in an alleyway next to his home in an instant. His phone was lying shattered on the sidewalk, earbuds strewn in the street. He could only hope they'd be spared from the few cars that drove down Barkers Street. 

A hand slithered down his spine, circling the curves of his ass before slapping with an echoing crack. Minho instinctively jolted away from the hand, colliding with the man's chest and feeling his arousal against his thigh. 

"Remember me, little kitty?" The man hissed, grabbing Minho's hair and yanking his head back. Minho did remember him. The man was a regular at Cherry's, always in the front row and always with a ring on his finger. He sometimes paid extra for Minho's "services". 

"I do," Minho answered. His hands scrambled to find something, anything, along the brick wall to use as a weapon. God, where were the druggies when Minho needed them? The man snarled at him and slammed his body against the wall.

A hand crept around his neck, squeezing hard enough to warn him but not enough to completely cut off his airways. "Didn't appreciate you leaving me for that blonde boy last night." 

Minho didn't know what to say. The man was drunk, breath reeking and moving sluggishly. The bulging muscles under his tank left no room for a fight, and Minho didn't want to lead him to his apartment. He was trapped. 

"Got nothing to say, huh, pretty boy?" 

The nickname made Minho's blood boil, a reminder of the morning's earlier events. 

"What do you want?" He asked, silently applauding his steady voice. 

"I want you." The man leaned forward, his nose brushing against Minho's. "Free of charge." 

Minho struggled in his hold when his shirt was lifted to expose his flat tummy. His glass-caused scar ran diagonally along his side, and Minho gagged when a finger traced across the bumpy skin. He kicked uselessly at the man's thighs, and the hand around his neck tightened. Damn, this was really how Minho was going to lose his last shred of dignity, in a dingy alleyway at the hands of a possessive client. 

"Don't," Minho pleaded in one last vain attempt to stop the inevitable. The man snickered. 

"What? You waitin' for blondie to come save you? You're nothin' but a cute ass, princess, better accept it." 

Minho shook his head. No, that wasn't true. Jisung asked for a date. He was sincere, nice. Jisung wouldn't use him, not Jisung, anyone except Jisung. 

"Yo! What are you doing, man? Have some respect." Someone called. The man faltered, and Minho slipped from his grasp. He bolted for his phone, abandoning his cheap headphones and sprinting up the stairs. The elevator never worked, and the one time Minho tried, he was trapped with the bitchiest woman he had ever met for six hours. He unlocked his door shakily and slammed it shut. He made quick work of the locks, including the extra ones he installed after a drunk man stumbled into his house at three in the morning. 

Minho's back hit the door, and he slid to the floor. 

He was so numb. His phone was a shattered mess, and the screen refused to turn on. He could feel the phantom touch of calloused fingers on his body. But worst of all, he believed every syllable that left the man's mouth. 

Han Jisung played him, and he would never be loved for anything more than his appearance. 

A furry body collided with his leg, and he smiled softly. His precious kitten, Dori, meowed at him impatiently. Minho pet her gently, and she purred at the familiar hand stroking her back. 

"Is it your lunchtime, sweet girl?" Minho cooed, ignoring the tears that wet his lips as he did so. It was an hour past her lunchtime, actually, and she seemed to know that. Dori butted her head against his hand and slipped into the kitchen, Minho following. He fixed her a dish of wet food and flopped onto his couch. The clock above his TV said it was two in the afternoon, but Minho's fading adrenaline said it was bedtime. 

He flicked through his channels idly, stopped on Law and Order, and rested his head on his fluffy couch pillows. His entire living room set was a collection of gifts from his friends (read: Felix), and the odd coloring and mismatched patterns reflected that. He considered buying new furniture once, but the idea of parting with his beloved couch that was molded to his body made him sad. His new salary at the club, mainly the tips, gave him plenty of money to buy better furniture. Pieces not torn from kitty claws or stained from cheap wine. The apartment was so unapologetically him, and he adored it. 

Felix did too, and Minho longed to see his best friend. He hadn't even registered that Felix wasn't following him until he sat down, and the realization stung. He was almost certain Felix was curled under Changbin's strong arm, smiling from ear to ear like a magnetic ball of energetic sunshine. Minho didn't want Felix to choose Changbin over him. Didn't want to make him choose, but every day, he felt Felix slipping. It was a matter of time before Changbin's hatred for him forced Felix to avoid Minho. Felix was all that Minho had left, and if he lost Felix, he would be an empty shell. It was a miracle Minho hadn't tipped over the roof ledge yet, and any inkling of losing his lifeline would give him a harsh shove. 

Minho couldn't stop crying. The tears leaked into his ears and stung his eyes, but he couldn't stop them. The sobs made him heave and choke, one sent him flying to his toilet. The bathroom smelt of vomit and bleach with Minho in the middle, shirt stained, and vision cloudy. His eyes frantically shot around the cluttered bathroom, nails digging into his palms as if the pain could ever measure up to the satisfaction of crimson blood and sharpened edges. 

No. 

Lee Minho did not self-harm. He was one year clean. He is mentally stable. 

But, fuck, if the shaving razor laying on his bathroom counter didn't look so very tempting. He knew just how to unscrew the loose little screw, just how to destroy the plastic. One deep flick across the skin of his wrist and he'd be done. 

He is mentally stable.

His wrists tingled in anticipation for the familiar feeling of metal on skin, the familiar iron smell of blood that would appear. He was never satisfied until blood bubbled to the surface and made a crimson river down the expanse of his forearm. He reached out and clutched the small razor, four dollars of plastic ready to destroy his one year of progress. He tossed it to the ground and lifted his leg. 

It shattered.

Lee Minho was mentally stable.


	4. four

The table was silent. Hyunjin's loud mouth was shut in a passive-aggressive grin, Felix's jaw dropped to the floor, and Bambam surveyed the damage with a content smirk. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jisung growled, knuckles white from how tight he held his knife. He wanted to plunge the metal through Bambam's eyeball, but one warning look from Chan stopped him. "Why would you ask that?" 

Bambam shrugged and took a sip of his lemonade. "It was a genuine question. You really don't think he'd be down for a threesome?" 

Jisung's patience snapped, and Bambam was on the floor in an instant, clutching the back of his head where it slammed against the tiles. His mind screamed at him to hit, hit, hit until the man was nothing but a bloody lump. Jisung didn't consider himself a violent person, but the rage flaring through his body was uncontrollable, and he clenched his fists. He didn't remember punching people hurting so badly, but the bruising on his knuckles was nothing compared to Minho's broken heart. Bambam's jaw crunched under him, nose spilling blood, and hands trying to shove Jisung off of him. He probably would have killed Bambam if Chan hadn't grabbed his arm. 

He tried to shrug Chan off, but his daily trips to the gym held Jisung in place. Man, Jisung really needed to start working out again.

"Jisung," Chan called firmly. "You are going to kill him." 

Jisung scoffed, "Yeah, that's the goal." 

Chan didn't respond, but Jisung saw Hyunjin's shocked eyes and Felix's grateful smile. Jisung was disappointed in Felix's reaction to the situation. He hadn't expected Felix to jump Bambam as he had, and when the angry fog cleared he would probably regret his rash decision, but to be so relaxed while your best friend gets shamed bothered Jisung. 

"You're a horrible best friend," Jisung spat when Chan dragged him past the couple. Felix had the decency to look guilty, but Jisung didn't pity him in the slightest. He didn't deserve Minho's trust. 

The door shut softly behind them, and Chan's chill attitude changed. 

"Han Jisung, I am going to kill you, I swear." Chan crossed his arms with a glare. 

"I'm sorry, okay! I just got so mad when he said that. Like, how dare he ask that of Minho like he's some sort of object to be bought!" 

Chan sighed and pulled Jisung's shaking frame into a gentle hug. "Sungie, you have to understand, that's Minho's job." 

Jisung pushed Chan away and shook his head. "No. No, it's not. Minho is a dancer, not some prostitute." 

"Sungie-" 

Jisung cut him off with a defeated huff. "I'm going home." He grabbed his keys and unlocked his stupid purple car, the one Minho chose. The passenger seat felt empty without Minho's commentary and wandering hands. It was quiet without Minho's fingers pushing every button he could reach and dancing along to the radio. The silence was overwhelming, and the love songs on the radio didn't help his aching heart. God, he was supposed to take Minho on a date. He was supposed to give him forehead kisses and big hoodies, not drag him to brunch so he could be pawned off to the richest man at the table. He was so, so stupid. 

He drove quickly down Barker Street, ignoring the crunch under his tires and pulled onto his road. Beverly Park Avenue was a twisty road filled with expensive pools, giant houses, and way too many Chihuahuas. Jisung lived at the very end of the road in a house that could comfortably fit ten people. The ten-bedroom, seven-bath mansion was elegant from the front door to the back door, with archways and pillars that screamed Percy Jackson. Jisung loved it. 

His parents were immigrants from Malaysia that worked for years before they could afford their house. Jisung remembered his trashy apartment on Barker Street, the way his parents ogled the towering mansions from their cracked bedroom window. Jisung didn't miss his old apartment or the people that came with it. 

When he turned seven, his parents bought the house at the end of Beverly Park Avenue, and Jisung never looked back. He grew up wealthy, with brand new phones, Supreme hoodies and Gucci shirts. He was careless with his belongings, knowing that if they were destroyed he could just buy new ones, better ones. Jisung had gone through three brand new iPhones before he turned fifteen. His parent's death left him grieving, but well off, and he could easily afford their lavish funerals and cremations. 

Jisung pressed the open button on his garage remote, and the door slid open. The pathway leading to his expansive underground garage sloped downwards so he could fit all of his cars into a large space without it being an eyesore. He parked the Bugatti in its spot at the back of his garage, where his favorite cars went. Any gifted cars or ones from his parents were parked in the very rear to avoid collision risks and to preserve their color. The Bugatti rarely hit the road, and Jisung surprised himself by driving it. Chan bought him the car as a celebratory gift after their record signing deal, and it remained there ever since. Until Minho came, that is. Minho with his obnoxious love for purple and irresistible smile. 

"Jesus, Jisung, get it together," he scolded quietly, hanging the keys on the rack. He unlocked his garage door and kicked his Timbs off before flopping on the sofa. He grabbed the MacBook laying by his feet and his diamond-encrusted Focal Utopia's from the coffee table. He plugged them into the laptop and slipped them over his ears. His music program was still open from his last session, beat playing on loop. Jisung wasn't a skilled producer like Chan or a master lyricist like Changbin, but the songs he produced always came out okay. He was empathetic, and his lyrics reflected that. They were aimed at the brokenhearted, the anxious souls who couldn't fall asleep at night, the numbed, and the hurt. Jisung couldn't write about being poor, about having nowhere to stay. He didn't understand addict parents or distant fathers, so he didn't write about it. Jisung stuck to what he knew, but when inspiration hit, he couldn't resist it. 

He didn't realize he was writing about Minho until his heart thumped dangerously in his chest. Chesnut hair, feline eyes, crooked smile, he couldn't stop. He wrote about a man making money off of married men and single bachelors, a little boy with a dancing dream that fell through. He wrote about glitter on legs and in hair, sparkles in his eyes and on his clothes. He wrote about flirty skirts drowned in big sweaters, about someone who wanted to be loved more than touched but didn't know how to express it. The lyrics were honest, and Jisung knew they would be perfect. 

Jisung sat, back hunched and eyes straining, for two hours. The song was finished, with the lyrics censored and backing track up to par, and he was excited to show it to Chan. Apparently, Chan had a similar idea, because ten minutes after Jisung saved and closed his laptop, he knocked on the door. 

"Jisungie, are you calm now?" 

Jisung completely forgot about what happened, but the reminder made the ignored pain in his knuckles flare-up. He winced and rubbed at the bruises. 

"I'm calm, Chan. I'm sorry for punching Bambam, I know he's your friend." Jisung apologized softly, head hung in shame. He would never apologize for why he punched Bambam, and he barely even regretted it, but Chan was his best friend. He didn't want him to feel like he had to choose between Jisung and Bambam. 

"Can we come in?" 

Jisung tilted his head curiously. "We?" Chan stepped aside to reveal an emotionless Changbin and a silently crying Felix. He pulled the door open and let the trio enter. Chan got comfy in his favorite spot on the couch, Changbin sat on the armchair diagonal to the TV, and Felix sat criss-cross on the floor. Jisung didn't offer him a chair. 

"What are you guys doing here?" Jisung asked after grabbing a few cans of soda and passing them around. 

"I needed to make sure you weren't doing anything stupid." Chan nudged Jisung with his shoulder playfully. 

"I'm only here because Felix wanted to talk to you," Changbin added. 

Jisung rolled his eyes and popped the tab on his Fanta. "I have nothing to say to you, Felix." 

Felix fiddled with the can he was holding, gaze downcast. "You were right. I am a bad best friend. I should've stuck up for Minho, not you. Hell, you barely know him and you were more willing to defend him than I was. That's fucked up of me." 

"It is. I've only known Minho since last night, but the way he talks about you is so fond. He would give you everything he has, and then some, and you can't even speak a few words on his behalf." 

"How do I make it up to you?" 

Jisung chuckled sarcastically. "You don't make it up to me. You make it up to Minho. I would be with him right now if I had any idea where he lived, but you're just sitting here. I know for a fact you know where he lives." 

Felix nodded. "I do, but-" 

"You have no excuses. Unless you have something better to do than sit on my floor and cry?" 

Felix shook his head and stopped talking. Changbin noticed his boyfriends disheartened frown and glared at Jisung's smug face. 

"Why do you care about him so much, anyway? He's a stripper, Sung." Felix flinched at Changbin's words. "You can't actually believe you're special to him. People at Cherry's are loyal to nothing but money. Whoever pays Minho the most gets him for the night. Can you really live with that? Cherry's boys are just glorified prostitutes, and they'll never be anything more than that." 

Jisung watched as Felix's frown hardened to an angry scowl. 

"So what, Felix is a prostitute? Alright then, how much should I pay you to keep him tonight?" Jisung asked, pulling out his wallet and shuffling through the dollar bills stacked inside. Jisung caught Felix's attention and sent him a secret wink, a silent plea to play along so Jisung could prove his point. The freckled boy nodded slightly and grabbed at Changbin's arm.

"Don't you dare, Han. I'll kill you before you lay a hand on him." 

"Oh? You didn't seem too concerned when the same thing happened to Minho though." Jisung cocked his head to the side and smiled, pocketing his wallet. 

"Minho isn't my boyfriend, and he'll never be anyone's boyfriend. He's got men waiting for him everywhere, Ji, why can't you see that?" Changbin groaned.

Felix stood up abruptly, knocking his closed soda can to the floor with a loud, metallic clang. "Are you calling him a slut?" 

"Is he not?" Changbin snickered. "He's a pretty boy that mouths off too much. No one sticks around him except you." 

"Fuck you, Changbin." 

Felix threw the silver necklace hidden under his shirt into Changbin's lap and stormed out the front door. 

"What's your problem with Minho anyway?" Jisung asked when the awkward silence became too suffocating. 

"He tried to take Felix away from me." 

Jisung laughed quietly, shaking his head at Changbin's unwarranted jealousy. "Nah dude, you just lost Felix all on your own. You need to apologize to him." 

"Now?" 

"No, he's too worked up. He'll just get angrier. Give him a day or two. Hey, this works out well. Cherry Club wants us back and we both want to talk to the workers. Think we could squeeze in a gig tomorrow, Chan?" 

The oldest 3racha member snapped to attention at his name. "Same time as yesterday?" Jisung nodded. "Yeah, we can. I'll call and let the boss know. I'll see you tomorrow then, Sung." Chan hugged him goodbye and left the mansion, Changbin following him. 

Jisung grabbed his phone to text Minho the exciting news, finding his phone buried in his couch cushions and covered in Cheeto dust. He brushed it off with a grimace and opened Minho's contact, eyes lingering on his profile picture a few seconds longer than necessary (it was taken in secret, the morning after their night together). He told Minho he would be playing tomorrow and wanted to talk, but when he hit send, the message wouldn't go through. His phone said he had full connection, maybe he should just try again? He typed the same message and hit send. It wouldn't go. 

Minho had blocked him. 

Jisung shouldn't have expected any different. Minho wasn't a teenager, he wouldn't sit around and take shit from grown adults anymore. Jisung's heart sank, but he forced himself to turn off his phone and do something productive. He couldn't listen to his song again, not after being aware of Minho's rejection, so he plugged his (Hyunjin's) charger into his laptop and left the living room. His bedroom reeked of Minho's flowery cologne, and when his bed caught the light, he could see flakes of silver glitter. He shook out his blankets and cuddled into his sheets, eyes burning with tears. 

Lee Minho was far too good for him. 

[ the song he "produced" is close ]


	5. five

Jisung tossed his microphone from hand to hand, waiting for their cue. He felt Chan watching him and knew it was a matter of time before his motherly instincts kicked in, and his mic was confiscated. 3racha was once again at Cherry Club, with Minho and Felix nowhere to be found. Woojin, the stage manager, told them that the aloof dancers would be performing with them, but Jisung hadn't seen Minho enter or exit the club (not that he was checking, definitely not).

"Jisung, please. If you drop that, I will never forgive you," Chan scolded quietly, grabbing Jisung's mic and placing it in a safer position. Jisung pouted sadly but stopped his anxious flipping. Chan was right. Each 3racha member had custom in-ear pieces and microphones that were not cheap. Jisung's glittery pink mic was almost two hundred dollars, not to mention the decals and the quality. Chan's mic was navy blue, Changbin's black. Jisung wanted them to all have matching glitter mics, but Changbin downright refused. He said Felix could be the glitter bearer of the two, and Jisung agreed that glitter fit Felix more than buff, muscly, bad boy Changbin. 

"Please welcome our special guests, 3racha!" 

Chan pushed the door open, and the three bounced on stage. The crowd was dull, unsurprising of a Sunday work night. The majority of people were dolled up in fancy business suits, probably looking for an escape from the stress of weekend hour jobs. Jisung wasn't worried about them, though, not when Minho strutted down the catwalk, head high and heels higher. The crowd perked up at the mention of their favorite dancer, cash dangling from fists and peeking from waistbands. Jealousy knotted his stomach when Minho reached with teasing fingers to grab the money. He would have missed his cue if Chan hadn't slammed into his frozen body, knocking him back to the present. If he rapped angrier than he had his entire life, no one needed to know. And if his glares lingered a bit longer on the men in the front row, he wouldn't mention it. 

Minho eventually made his way to the center stage, eyes uncertain. Jisung knew he wanted to be as far away from them as possible, but he still came. Money was money, after all. 

Minho took his place by Jisung's side, playing with the zipper on his skinny jeans and licking at his neck. Jisung's hands grabbed Minho's exposed waist, pushing him to face the crowd and feeling down his torso, further, further, until Minho slapped his hand away. The dancer's cheeks were pink, and it wasn't from the colorful strobe lights. 

"We should talk," Jisung whispered, pulling Minho into his body by his ass. "Why did you block me?" 

Minho shook his head and swung his hips. "I didn't block you, my phone-"

"Come on over, kitten! Daddy’s got some sugar for you," someone yelled. Minho glanced over his shoulder at the thick stack of cash and pranced from Jisung's hold. Jisung could only watch him go. 

Jisung was hyperfocused on Minho for the rest of the performance. Every move, breath, smile was noted in Jisung's subconscious like a photograph. God, he would put Aphrodite to shame, glittering under the neon lights and playful smile on display. 3racha exited the stage with Felix and Minho by their sides. Felix was ignoring Changbin's attempts at conversation in favor of speaking English with a very amused Chan. Minho was silent.

"I'm sorry about what Bambam said. I promise he got what he deserved for it," Jisung apologized when the silence became too much. Minho's eyes widened in shock, and Jisung hid the bruises staining his knuckles. Minho, ever the perceptive one, already saw them. 

"Sungie, did you hit him?" Minho hissed, dragging them to the bar where the music was quieter. 

"He may be a bit messed up, but that's not the point. What he said was out of line, and I need you to know that I don't see you-"

"What're you doing here, kitty? Bailing on me already?" 

Jisung eyed the guy gripping Minho's shoulder wearily. The Rolex on his wrist was limited edition, and the indent on his finger was missing its ring. He was a wealthy guy looking to cheat on his wife with a pretty boy from the club. But the predatory snarl on his thin lips made Jisung nervous. Minho was a pretty boy, but he was Jisung's pretty boy, and this man looked feral. 

"Don't go with him," Jisung demanded. "He's not safe. don't go with him." 

"He's coming with me. I paid good money, and I'm not letting it go to waste," the man growled, tugging on Minho's wrist. The dancer's hair hung over his eyes shamefully as he got dragged to a velvet door and shoved into the dark hallway. Jisung would have chased after them if Chan hadn't pushed him gently towards the exit, Felix behind him. Jisung saw Felix's furrowed brows, his anxious nail-biting, and almost broke free. If Felix was worried, then Minho was in danger. Jisung would hate himself if Minho got hurt. But what could they do? Nothing, absolutely nothing. 

"Felix, can you do me a favor?" 

Felix nodded, and Chan smiled apologetically. "Can you go home with Jisung for me? You're both worried about Minho, and I think maybe you should talk. I'm sorry, Lixie, I know we had plans." 

Felix grinned and latched himself onto Jisung's side. "Its okay, Channie. I'll go with him." 

"Thank you. Get some sleep, Ji." Chan hugged them both and walked away, unlocking his car. 

"Jisung, Minho can handle himself," Felix reassured him softly, but the anxious knot in his stomach didn't untie. The reassurances and comforting words continued the entire car ride to Jisung's house, and even if they didn't work, Jisung appreciated the distracting bass of Felix's voice. 

Felix, like Minho, stood in awe of his house, despite being there before. The kitchen was massive and modern, appliances more expensive than Felix's entire ratty apartment spanning the walls. Jisung knew it was impressive, and he would have shown Felix the rest of his house, but the harsh stabs in his gut made him sick. He didn't know if he was going to throw up or pass out, and with staggering steps, he threw himself onto his bed. Felix lingered awkwardly in the hallway, tapping his fingers against the doorway trim. Jisung was a terrible host on most days, but he was downright atrocious with Felix. The freckled dancer could find somewhere to sleep, he decided, and let his eyes flutter shut.

"Jisung, how are you even alive?" Felix scoffed, smacking the couch pillow in his hands against Jisung's butt. Jisung grumbled and pulled his blanket over his head. Monday was Jisung's least favorite day, too many alarms, and not enough sleep to cure his hangover. Usually, Chan would burst through his door at 9 a.m. on the dot, computer in hand, and face weighted with stress. Felix's bright smile wasn't any better, and Jisung kicked blindly at the Australians legs. He felt around his desk for his phone and after located, checked the time with cloudy eyes. 

"Can you go to the store today? You're running out of eggs, and I want an omelet." Felix discarded the couch pillow and resorted to viciously shaking Jisung's limp body. 

"Lee Felix, you did not just wake me up at seven-thirty in the morning to ask for eggs?" 

Felix smile widened, and with a teasing wink, Jisung was thrown to the floor, blanket dangling from Felix's tiny fist. "Yes, yes, I did." 

Jisung stood up and winced at the bruise that was sure to form on his tailbone. Shooting Felix a glare, Jisung snatched his blanket and lazily smacked Felix's arm. 

"You're worse than Chan," Jisung whined and grabbed his toothbrush. 

"Chan comes here in the morning?" 

"He's my alarm," Jisung mumbled, toothpaste dripping down his chin and swirling down the drain. Felix's sudden infatuation with Chan was unusual, and typically, Jisung would have Felix in the spotlight, questions flying in every direction. But his very being was occupied with Minho and Minho only. If he didn't see him, alive and healthy, he might just go feral. Jisung rinsed his mouth and sighed. He wanted to hurt the person staring back at him in the mirror, punch the glass and let the shards fly. How could he be so stupid? 

Jisung clenched his bruised fists and slammed the bathroom door shut. Felix jumped at the noise and frowned. 

"Are you okay, Sungie?" 

"Don't call me that!" Jisung growled, spinning on Felix and raising his hand. Felix whimpered and pulled his legs to his chest, apologies falling from his lips like raindrops. His reaction scared Jisung. "I'm sorry, Felix. I just don't need to be reminded of Minho this early." Felix nodded, but his posture stayed defensive, ready to fight or flee. 

"Felix." Jisung paused. His intentions were pure, and he could only hope Felix also saw them as such. "Do you think you're in danger when you're with Changbin?" 

Felix recoiled, face stoic. "I want eggs." 

"Felix-" 

The boy bolted to the door, slapping Jisung's reaching hand away from him. "I want eggs, Jisung." 

Jisung shook his head, grabbed a hoodie, and pulled it over his tattered pajamas. "Eggs it is." 

Although Jisung despised the erratic crowds at Walmart, Felix was right. He was living off take out and cheap ramen from the convenience store near his house. His newfound weekly workouts with Chan were the only thing keeping him from becoming a full-out food addict. He found a spot fairly quickly, seeing as no sane person came to Walmart at eight in the morning, on a Monday nonetheless. He turned off his car and put his wallet in the pocket of his sweatpants. Bleach stains littered the pant leg, and there was a suspicious hole on the inside of his thigh, but he couldn't care less. 

He scanned the aisles mindlessly, throwing items in his cart that would never reach his mouth. Surely Felix could find a use for them, seeing as he was obsessed with Jisung's fridge. 

"Fucking Felix," Jisung huffed when he grabbed the highly anticipated eggs from the large plastic crates. "I hope your omelet tastes like shit, and you can never look at eggs again." 

"Never thought I'd see the day Hannie cursed a carton of eggs." 

Jisung knew that voice, knew it like he knew synths and melodies. Minho, in all his beautiful glory, stood in front of him in an almost empty Walmart. He saw Minho's eyes flit over his appearance, and unconsciously crossed his legs. 

"Good morning to you too, darling," Jisung greeted with a cheesy wink. Minho laughed softly and sipped at the Starbucks coffee in his hand. He looked fine, no visible bruises, but Jisung suspected there were some under the hood fastened on his head and covering his neck. "Minho, can I ask you something?" 

Minho hummed, eyes twinkling with curiosity. 

"Can you take your hoodie off?"

"Jisung, I don't want you to see me like this. I don't care about the dancing at the club, that's fun, that's me doing what I love. This," he pointed at his neck. "This isn't me." 

"Minho, please," Jisung pleaded, tugging on Minho's sleeve. "If I leave this store without seeing what he did to you, I will never forgive myself." 

Minho nodded hesitantly, handing Jisung his coffee and slipping off his hood. Jisung noticed how cute Minho's fluffy unstyled hair was immediately, but his hope faded the further his gaze wandered. A bruise, made in a moment of anger and not lust, surrounded his left eye. Another painted the slope of his jaw. Hickeys, vicious and purpling trailed down the side of his neck and beneath his neckline. But worst of all was the red handprints swallowing Minho's throat. 

"Jesus Christ, Min. He fucking strangled you?" Jisung gently brushed a finger along the palmprint, feeling Minho's labored breathing. 

"I was paid to please him, Jisungie. Weird kinks included." 

Jisung stared at Minho, pale and bewildered. "No? That doesn't excuse hitting someone, trust me. I almost knocked Felix's annoyingly white teeth out of his face this morning." 

"Why was Felix at your house?" 

"He stayed over because I could barely function, knowing I left you at the hands of that monster," Jisung seethed, his eggs long forgotten. "He could have killed you." 

Minho took Jisung's shaking hand in his own and frowned. "I don't like that Felix stayed with you." 

Jisung exhaled, exasperated. "That's all you heard from that?" Minho nodded. "Well, I don't like you putting yourself in danger to make a living. Felix can leave, and he will be when Chan comes over, but you can't just stop making money, and I would never ask that of you." Jisung pulled his hand from Minho's and anxiously tugged at his messy hair. He had an idea in mind, but he knew Minho would hate it. He was too selfless, willing to give everything and get nothing. Minho prioritized others over himself, and Jisung was determined to protect him. 

"I have an idea. Would you be willing to hear me out?" Jisung proposed. 

Was Minho willing to hear him out? It became apparent since the first day they met that Minho was interested in more than Jisung's body. He admired his determination, the way he poured his thoughts into music. He was starting to feel things for Jisung that stemmed far from lust, and it terrified him. But Minho's job, working with clients or only dancing, didn't allow for personal connections, he knew that. How could he dance for thirsty men with a boyfriend waiting for him? It wouldn't be fair. Jisung would never be satisfied with him. 

"I'll listen to you, but don't expect anything." 

"Walk with me? I'll pay, and we can talk in my car." 

"Alright, but no funny business, Han Jisung," Minho teased, bumping Jisung's hip and smiling. 

"No promises." Jisung laughed with another cheesy wink that sent Minho's heart into overdrive. He paid (a whopping two hundred dollars that would have broke Minho's bank account), and after helping Jisung put his bags in the backseat, they sat. 

"Drop all your clients." Jisung started. "Tell your boss you won't work in the private room anymore. They get half of the money you collect on stage anyway, right?" 

"I know it looks like a lot, but once you add it up and then split it, god, it's like there's nothing. Most of it goes to my rent and my cats, and then I have to buy my outfits and choreograph my dances. The private rooms bring in most of my money, Sung. I can't lose that, or I'll be homeless."

"Let me be your only client. I'll pay you Min, more than they do. You don't have to sleep with me, and you don't even have to say yes. My house is lonely, and it would be nice to have you around." 

Minho didn't respond, nibbling on his bottom lip as he thought. 

"Please, Minho. I need you to say yes," Jisung pleaded. 

Minho sighed. "Alright, Sungie. You get me from the club in the purple car, and I'll stay with you." 

Jisung smiled and wrapped his arms around Minho. The center console dug into his ribs, but it was nothing compared to the heat traveling throughout his body. God, he couldn't wait.


	6. six

True to his word, Jisung arrived at Cherry's Club in his purple Bugatti every night by twelve. His expensive ride caught the attention of many dancers. They all tried and failed to get a ride in the car or on the person inside it. Jisung hadn't realized how many young men danced for Cherry's. Some boys looked barely old enough to drive a car, let alone dance for filthy men with dicks for brains. 

"Hannie!" 

Minho tripped through the backdoor, hands full of clothes and his new phone between his teeth. After Minho explained what happened to Jisung, they went out to buy Minho a new phone. Way too much hesitance and three stores later, Minho had the latest Samsung and Jisung's number. 

"Take this, please," he mumbled around the phone in his mouth. Jisung laughed and took Minho's phone, pocketing it and watching the dance adjust the bundle in his hands. "God, I'll never get the fuzz out of my mouth." Minho stuck out his tongue and grabbed at a piece of fuzz Jisung couldn't see. 

"You just had to have the cat phone case, didn't you?" 

Minho jokingly glared at him, shoving his clothes onto the floor of the passenger seat. Minho had switched from nervously fidgetting with buttons to casually sitting criss-cross and scrolling through his phone. Although he would never admit it, Jisung missed his childish curiosity. 

"And it only cost you a kiss." Jisung puckered his lips teasingly. "C'mon Min, you haven't given me my daily kiss yet." 

"You just can't wait, can you?" Minho rolled his eyes but leaned over the console to peck Jisung's strawberry flavored lips anyways. "Yummy," he commented, licking his lips with a smirk. 

Jisung groaned and shifted gears. "You owe me when we get home." 

Minho laughed. "Anything for you, Hannie." 

He pulled out of the parking lot with a slightly unnecessary rev of the engine, and the car ride continued quietly. Minho was humming along to whatever song was on the radio (some lo-fi song by DPR Live), and Jisung was zoning out, senses full of Minho, Minho, Minho. He hadn't seen the dancer for almost three days, which wasn't a lot in hindsight, but at that moment, Jisung missed Minho like crazy. 

"I got you something, by the way," Jisung announced after parking the car and helping Minho with his bag. He kicked the door open with his feet, hands full of glitter tubes and skirts, and plopped the items on his dining room table. 

"Oh? What is it?" Minho was trying to sound nonchalant, but the excitement in his eyes betrayed him. 

"Go look in the bathroom." 

Minho glanced between the stuff in his hands and the hallway before dropping his belongings to the ground and bolting towards Jisung's bedroom. Jisung shook his head fondly and picked up his discarded clothes, waiting for when Minho found his gift. 

He heard Minho cheer from the bathroom, the tiles making it echo around his house. "Hell yeah! I needed some of these." It was silent for a moment, with Minho using his gift or reading the packaging. "And they take off glitter!" Jisung ignored the mess on his kitchen table and joined Minho in his bathroom, grabbing the dancer's waist and resting his chin on Minho's shoulder. 

"Didn't think you'd be so excited for makeup wipes," he commented. 

Minho tutted and pointed to Jisung's overflowing laundry bin. Towels covered in bright splatters of eyeshadow and the beautiful hue of Minho's expensive foundation filled the entire basket. 

"It's better than using all your towels." Minho opened the package and began to wipe at the purple glitter on his eyelids. "You know what would make today even better?" 

Jisung hummed and relaxed further into Minho's sturdy body, inhaling his vanilla perfume. 

"If you took me to get more makeup." Minho smiled cheekily at him through the mirror, and Jisung nodded half-mindedly, more invested in sniffing Minho like a dog. 

"What, do you go to like, Sephora or something?" Minho nodded. "I'll take you tomorrow then. Chan's giving us a day off because he has a meeting with some hotshot director." 

Minho switched from rubbing at his eyes to tackling his peach lipgloss. "Well, that's good, isn't it?" 

Jisung sighed and kissed beneath Minho's ear, lips lingering. "Can't say yet. We've done this three times already, and they all say the same thing: 'You're good, but you're just not what people want to hear these days'.Like they know, hypocrites." 

"I always want to hear your songs, Sungie, and I'm sure other people would love them." 

"That's okay. I'm satisfied as long as I have you on my side." Jisung looked at Minho in the mirror and cooed. "There's my pretty boy. You're beautiful, Minho, glitter or no glitter." Minho blushed at Jisung's words and shrugged out of his hold to cover his red face. 

"God, no, I look like a demon without makeup." 

Jisung laughed and pulled Minho into another hug. "Hottest demon I've ever seen. Which reminds me..." Jisung cupped Minho's cheeks and forced the dancer to look at him. "You still owe me." 

"I don't owe you shit, Han Jisung. Now go make me dinner, peasant." Minho turned with an arrogant huff, waving Jisung away. And who was Jisung to deny his princess anything? He left his room after tossing Minho a hoodie and preheated the oven. He had come to learn that Minho was not a picky eater in the slightest, biting off of others plates and sipping from their drinks. He scattered some chicken nuggets (more nugget than chicken) on a metal baking tray and popped them in the oven. 

Minho bounced into the kitchen minutes later, his hair dripping water where he walked. "What'd you make?" 

Jisung glanced up from his phone screen. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Minho gasped, offended, and snatched the device from Jisung's hands. It wasn't like he was doing anything interesting anyway, just aimlessly scrolling through TikTok. Minho's body pressing him against the countertops finally gained his attention, and he subconsciously placed his hands under the hoodie, on the soft skin of Minho's waist. His thumbs rubbed small circles near Minho's navel, and the dancer relaxed in his hold, practically purring. 

"You made chicken nuggets, didn't you?" Minho asked after a moment, reaching up to kiss Jisung's chubby cheek.

"How do you know that?" 

"The trashcan exposed you." 

Jisung looked at his cheap trashcan, filled with ramen cups and, sure enough, the blue bag that once contained dinosaur chicken nuggets. 

"Shut up and eat these." Jisung huffed, loudly tossing the pan onto the countertop. Minho smiled sweetly and plucked a nugget from the batch, popping it into his mouth. The two made their plates, Minho's dinosaurs drowning in honey mustard, and ate on the couch. A random Disney movie, Pocahontas, it sounded like, played in the background. Jisung was hardly paying attention, but Minho was invested, jaw unhinged, and food exposed to the world. "Close your mouth, baby." Jisung gently pressed his jaw closed. "You'll eat a fly or something." 

They chewed silently for a while, with Minho drawing pretty flowers on Jisung's calves with a pen he found in the couch cushion. Jisung momentarily wondered why the hell Minho was digging in his couch cushions, but the soothing touch lulled his mind. 

"Hey, Sungie?" 

"Hm?" Jisung hummed. His head was tilted back, eyes shut. Minho wasn't known as a prankster, but if the opportunity presented itself, he took it. Silently, as silently as a clumsy man could, he leaned over and bit Jisung's throat. The rapper yelped and shoved Minho's laughing face away unceremoniously. 

"Can we make cookies?" Minho asked, smile big enough to light a room. 

Jisung dumbfoundedly stared at Minho's pouty lips. "Min, it's almost ten. Why the fuck do you want cookies?" 

"I'm pregnant and craving." Minho deadpanned. Jisung, the poor fool he is, almost believed him. "Stupid. Who wouldn't want cookies? Please?" 

Jisung blinked, blinked again. "So, you're not pregnant?" 

"Oh no, I most definitely am, and you're the aloof father who's paying child support." Minho nodded determinedly, getting up and dashing to the kitchen. Jisung heard him slamming cabinets and assumed he was searching for the partially eaten cookie dough. "Jisung, my intelligent little boy, I am not pregnant. I'm a man, Sungie. I know the skirts are deceiving, but you of all people should know. I mean, you've sucked my-" 

Jisung slapped a hand over Minho's babbling mouth. "Alright, alright. I get it. Thank you for the commentary, Mr. Lee." 

Minho grinned, cat-like and teasing, and shoved the cookie dough bowl into Jisung's hands. He fetched a baking sheet from beneath the oven and coated it with vegetable oil spray (where did Minho even find that?). 

"Get to rolling, Sung." 

Jisung grabbed a handful of dough and rubbed it between his palms, picking pieces off and eating them when he thought Minho wasn't watching. They carried on that way quietly, just the soft piano of Minho's music playing through Jisung's speakers. A dozen mishappened balls filled the tray, most missing their chips, courtesy of Jisung. 

"I wonder who ate all the chocolate chips." Minho chuckled sarcastically, sliding the tray into the oven and setting a timer for thirty minutes. 

Jisung watched him hop onto the counter and lick the dough remnants from his fingers. "I don't know. Maybe it was a ghost." 

The dancer laughed and hooked his ankles behind Jisung's back, pulling him into his hold. Jisung's hands naturally fell to his pretty thighs, exposed by the shorts he was wearing. 

Minho leaned forward, lips brushing against Jisung's as he spoke. "Think that ghost can spare a minute?" 

"He'd do anything for you, kitten."

Jisung connected their mouths gently, nibbling on Minho's bottom lip and running his tongue across it soothingly. He pulled Minho closer, tongue slipping between the seam of his lips. Minho pulled back first, his chest heaving. Jisung grabbed a fistful of his soft hair and pulled to reveal his pretty neck. He could faintly see the fading outline of his previous hickeys, but three days gave them more than enough time to disappear. 

He kissed his way across Minho's jawline and began his attack near Minho's throat, sucking bruises into the skin. Minho's hips moved subconsciously, grinding into Jisung's torso to chase any sort of friction. Jisung, noticing his distress, stepped back and allowed Minho to jump from the countertop. 

The tension fizzled momentarily, but flared again when Jisung's knee found its way between Minho's legs. Jisung continued his attack on Minho's neck, and Minho rutted quietly against his thigh. God, he was close, so close. His eyes screwed shut and his heart was pounding and then-

The cookie timer went off, sending Jisung halfway across the room. 

"Jesus, fuck! That scared the shit out of me." He cursed while grabbing an oven mit. Jisung threw the cookie tray on a towel on the counter, and Minho whined. "What's wrong, Min?" He asked as he placed the cookies onto a cooling rack. Minho whined again, louder, more desperate, and Jisung finally looked at him. 

"Aw, kitty. Why don't you go clean yourself up, hm?" 

"Sungie, I want you," Minho begged, clinging to the rapper's back. Jisung patted his butt gently.

"No, you wanted cookies. Go on, I'll wait for you." 

Minho left with a huff and a disgruntled: "I hate you, Han Jisung!" Minho took extra care in being as loud as he could in the bathroom, moaning Jisung's name obscenely. It took all of Jisung's willpower and seven cookies not to join him. 

"Can we watch more Disney movies while we eat them?" Minho asked when he finished (with a sound that made Jisung's dick twitch). Jisung agreed, filling a plate with cookies and giving Minho the remote. He chose Princess and the Frog, his favorite, Jisung would later learn, and snuggled into Jisung's side. His hand was laced lazily with Jisung's as he toyed with the rappers fingers. 

"Hey, Sungie? Can I draw on you again?"

"I don't mind, but why?" 

Minho uncapped the pen sitting on the coffee table and flipped Jisung's arm to be wrist up. "I've always wanted to design someone's tattoo. Felix said he would let me, but Changbin got all annoyed and shit." He made a single stroke down the expanse of Jisung's arm. 

"Changbin really doesn't like you, does he?" 

Minho shrugged. "Me and Felix used to sleep together, casually, you know? No feelings or whatever. Changbin found out and went completely bonkers on me. But they weren't even dating at the time!" 

Jisung thought back to the morning he spent with Felix. The boys avoidance of his question and how small he looked around Changbin. "I think Changbin abuses him." 

"I think so, too. But Lix refuses to leave. He must have something to blackmail him with." 

Minho appeared unbothered, absorbed in his drawing. Jisung saw more. He saw his pinched eyebrows and tapping foot. He saw Minho, scars and bruises and trauma, and he fell further in love.

With a soft smile, Jisung laid his head back and let himself fall asleep to Minho's humming.


	7. seven

Jisung learned three things about Minho during the weeks they spent together.

As annoyed as he may seem, Minho was secretly enamored by physical affection (especially from Jisung).  
He absolutely adored makeup, and had no problem charging almost a thousand dollars on Jisung's credit card for makeup.  
He acted like a kitten when horny.

And that's where he found himself. Minho's legs encasing his own, hands resting on Jisung's shoulder as he licked at the skin peeking from Jisung's t-shirt. The TV was playing in the background, a show neither cared about but sufficed for temporary background noise. The remote on the couch arm clattered to the floor when Jisung suddenly grabbed Minho's thighs and walked them to his room. He dropped Minho onto his sheets, heard him gasp, felt his fingers under his waistband and toying with the head of his cock.

"Damn kitten, what's got you all riled up?" Jisung hissed when Minho pushed his loose basketball shorts down and kissed the outline of his dick.

"Jus' want you, Sungie. Please, please, please-"

Jisung dropped his underwear to the ground and threaded his fingers in Minho's hair, tugging gently to get him to shut up.

"You want me that bad, huh? Suck it then." Jisung poked his cockhead against Minho's pouty lips impatiently. The dancer, ever-so-experienced, slacked his jaw and teasingly licked the slit. Pre-come spread across his lips and rested on his tongue as he suckled on the head. The hand in his hair urged him to go faster, and suddenly, Minho dropped, nosing at Jisung's pubes as he deep throated his cock. Thank God for his nonexistent gag reflex.

Jisung groaned, and used Minho's hair to control the bobs of his head. Minho's tongue brushed the underside of his dick, running across the protruding veins, and Jisung's steady pace faltered. He let go of Minho's hair and pulled his dripping cock from Minho's mouth, the poor kitten chasing after it.

"All fours, kitty, ass up."

Minho scrambled to his knees, arching his back and resting his cheek against the cold sheets. His own dick hung uselessly between his legs, untouched. He felt Jisung's hand rub smooth circles into his ass cheeks, thumb teasing his rim. Jisung, although impatient, never fingered him dry, and Minho tensed. Would it hurt? He really didn't want to find out-

Jisung's tongue unceremoniously plunged into his hole, and Minho yelped. The pleasure was immediate, Minho's hands grabbing at the sheets to anchor himself. It wasn't until Jisung added a finger to his ministrations that the aching began. Sure, Minho had sex a lot, before and after meeting Jisung, but the intrusion burned like a bitch. Without warning, Jisung added a second, third finger, scissoring Minho's hole. He reached down to jerk off his dick, still lazily finger fucking a whiny Minho.

"Just put it in, Ji. I'm prepped, I promise."

Jisung hummed. "I know you are, but it's more fun this way."

Minho whined and fucked himself faster against Jisung's fingers. The hand around his cock stuttered at Minho's insistence and Jisung decided he had enough. He pulled his fingers from Minho's hole and aligned his cock with the fluttering rim.

"You're always so fucking tight," Jisung moaned as he sheathed his throbbing cock in Minho's heat. Minho moaned, arching his back and pushing his ass against Jisung's thighs. Jisung pulled out to the very tip and slammed back inside. Minho could feel Jisung's balls slap against his skin with every bruising thrust, and it made him even harder.

Jisung's cock brushed against his walls in all the right ways, prodding at his prostate and making him scream. Jisung wasn't small. Hell, he wasn't even medium. Minho was positive he had never been fucked by someone with such a large dick, nearing nine inches, and the jabs against his prostate had him seeing stars. He reached down to satiate his aching cock, but froze when his hand grazed his lower abdomen, right above his belly button. A small bulge was there, disappearing and reappearing with Jisung's thrusts, and he realized with a wanton moan that Jisung's cock was reaching so deep he could see it.

He reached back to blindly grab at the hand that wasn't gripping his waist and brought it to his stomach. Minho heard Jisung's confused grunt turn feral in an instant.

"God, kitten, you're taking me so well," Jisung mumbled, focused on the pretty arch of Minho's spine and the way his ass jiggled on Jisung's thighs.

"Sungie, I'm gonna-" Minho whimpered, desperately fisting his cock. Jisung cooed and pushed Minho's hand away to do it himself. He jerked Minho off in time with his thrusts, the dancer moaning beneath him, pliant in his arms. "Fuck!" Minho yelled, eyes hazy as he came on the sheets. Jisung's thrusts never let up, and the overstimulation made Minho squirm.

"Lemme use your pretty little ass for a minute. Alright, doll?" Jisung grabbed Minho's waist in his hands and piston-fucked into his compliant lover. He felt his climax nearing, balls tightening, and with a guttural groan, he filled Minho with his come. He gently thrusted to ride out his high, almost getting hard again at the squelching sounds from his cum, and pulled his softening cock from Minho's ass. Jisung's cum trickled down the back of his thighs, and Minho writhed in the rapper's stronghold.

"C'mon, kitty. Let's get you cleaned up."

Minho could barely feel his legs, yet somehow he managed to half-walk, half-stumble to the bathroom. Jisung turned on the tub with the electronic keypad Minho would have to sell his apartment to afford, and helped Minho sit. The warm water cascading across his body from the jets of the tub relaxed his tense muscles. God, when the hell did sex turn into a workout? He must be getting old or something. Jisung pulled a shirt and an old pair of boxers over his naked body and sat on the edge of the tub, washing the cum from Minho's chest with a washcloth.

"Thank you for not leaving."

Jisung paused. Minho's eyes followed his movements fearfully.

"Never thank me for staying, Minho."

"But, I-"

"Don't ever thank me for doing the bare minimum. Never." Jisung growled, tossing the washcloth into the tub.

Minho curled his knees into his chest and rested his head on the bony joints. "Why are you so angry?" He whispered, hesitant.

"Why would I ever leave you? I just got you." Jisung's eyes were teary, voice weak. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. Minho picked up the washcloth to quickly clean the rest of his body, but cowered under Jisung's annoyed glare.

"I'm done now," Minho mumbled. Jisung silently helped Minho stand, carefully navigating the slippery floor, and towel-dried his fluffy hair. He handed Minho a hoodie and Nike shorts and closed the bathroom door. Jisung was fucking pissed, but Minho had no idea why. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Minho was headstrong by nature. Possessive boys who felt the need to claim someone instead of trusting their partner had no room in his life.

Jisung was flawless, but what did Minho really know? He'd only known Jisung for two months, maybe a little less. He knew he rapped, came from a wealthy family, loved his friends more than life, and had a bottle of antidepressants on his bathroom counter. But that was superficial. Minho knew more about some of his clients than he knew about the man he spent two months of his life with, that he slept with, practically lived with.

Minho would figure out Han Jisung if it killed him, and it just might.

He changed into the clothes given to him and flicked the lights off. Jisung was laying on his bed, eyes boring into the ceiling. Minho approached cautiously, and when Jisung didn't move to stop him, he curled into Jisung's side. His cheek rested on the rapper's shoulder, arm thrown over his waist. Jisung slowly intertwined their fingers and pressed a kiss to Minho's forehead.

What was he so afraid of?


	8. eight

"Hi, welcome to Starbucks. What can I get for you today?" 

A hammer, Jisung thought as he eyed the preppy brunette ringing him up, so I can bash your fucking skull in. 

"A venti caramel macchiato, please."

He didn't need to go to jail before 8 am on a Saturday, or ever if he could avoid it. Chan laughed by his side, and Jisung elbowed him in the ribs. He hated when Chan read his mind, and it was too damn early to deal with a hyper Chan relying on Monsters and expensive Starbucks coffee to live. Jisung swore up and down that if Chan bled it would be black coffee, no sugar, with a double shot of espresso. 

"That'll be $5.27." 

Jisung handed her his card, gagging quietly when her acrylics scraped across the back of his hand. She swiped it, click-clacked on the screen, and passed it back. 

"If you take a seat, I'll have your drink out to you shortly." 

Jisung nodded and sat at the first empty table he saw. Starbucks was shockingly dead for 7:56 am, but Jisung assumed the drive-thru line was miles long. Only two of the twenty-three tables (he counted while Chan ordered) were occupied, both with people looking at their laptops. Usually that was Chan, sound-proof headphones on his ears and music software open. Today, however, he called Jisung for a different reason. 

"Great. So, why did you desperately need me to drive here and ruin my Saturday morning with Minho?" Jisung cocked an eyebrow and tapped his foot against the linoleum. Minho wasn't awake when Jisung left (not surprising), but he wanted to get back before the dancer woke up. He knew of Minho's fear of abandonment, and he could only imagine how upset he would be if he woke up and Jisung was gone.

The tips of Chan's ears turned bright red and hot at the question.

"Holy shit, is this about a boy?" Jisung gasped, kicking Chan's feet teasingly under the table. The older stuttered and kicked back harder, making Jisung pout. "Does Channie have a crush?" He cooed. Another kick, right to the shin. "You do! Who is it?" Harder kick, straight to the dick. "Ow, you bitch! Its Felix, I know it." 

"How can you tell?" 

Jisung scoffed and slammed his hands on the table. "How can you tell? Really, Chan? Felix was gonna stay the night at your house, you never let me do that."

Chan nodded. "I don't trust you in my house, simple as that."

"What?" Jisung squeaked, grabbing Chan's hand and leaning across the small table. "Why not?"

"Ji, you're a walking disaster. Do you remember that time you tripped over the microphone cord in the recording booth and knocked it over?" 

"Well, yes, but that was a safety hazard to anyone." 

Chan patted Jisung's hands sympathetically. "Sung, you broke the glass." 

"I did not! The microphone stand did that." 

The lady called their names, and Chan sighed fondly. "Just go get our drinks, stupid." 

Jisung spluttered, thinking of an insult, but gave up. "This isn't over, Mr. Bang," he spat, walking to the counter. The barista gave him his drink with a smile, and Jisung could only manage a grimace in return, especially when he noticed the smudged ink on his palm. The girl was pretty, no doubt, and any straight man would be on his knees for her. Unfortunately, Jisung was hopelessly crushing on a certain male and exclusively gay. 

"I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend." 

Boyfriend? Boyfriend? Jisung's never had a boyfriend a day in his short life, where the fuck did he pull that bullshit from? 

The barista apologized sweetly, and Jisung left the counter with a blush that put Chan's cherry-tipped ears to shame. 

"Boyfriend? Why are we even talking about my love life when you have a boyfriend?" Chan giggled and stirred some creamer into his coffee. 

Jisung took a sip of his macchiato, shook his head, and promptly screamed alarmingly loud into his hoodie.

"Chan," he whined, kicking his feet like a toddler. "I'm not supposed to feel like this." Jisung slammed his head on the table. "Stupid." Bang. "Stupid." Bang. "Stupid." Chan's hand lifted his head from the table and gently rubbed at the red mark on his forehead. 

"You're allowed to feel whatever you want, Jisung. I know your relationship with Minho is… unconventional."

Jisung snorted. 

"But that doesn't mean you can't love-"

"I don't love him. Minho doesn't do 'love'."

"But you do, Sung. If being with him the way you are is too much for you, it's okay to end it. Don't allow yourself to be used because you want his attention." 

Jisung gnawed on his bottom lip, tasting iron on his tongue. "Do you think I should tell him? I've never been in a good relationship before, but I think he might… like me too?"

Chan smiled. "I think you should." 

"Okay, but do I have to do it now, or…?" 

"Take your time, Ji. But you should get back before lover boy gets worried. Its already nine." 

Jisung smirked at Chan's insistence. "Just say you have a date with Felix and go." 

Chan sighed and grabbed Jisung's coffee, pushing his limp body towards the exit. "Fine, I have a date with Lix. Now get." 

Jisung laughed. "Bye Channie! I love you!" He yelled. Chan flicked him off through the window, and Jisung sent him a cheesy finger heart. 

It wasn't until Chan turned away that Jisung began to process what he admitted. 

His hand froze, hovering above his door handle. 

"I'm in love with Lee Minho." 

Holy shit. 

Holy shit. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god. 

"Lee Minho is in love with me? No, no, no. Lee Minho is in love with me. And I'm going to tell him that I love him." He got in his car (the purple one, coincidentally), and revved the engine. "He's going to say he loves me too, and we'll live together in my house." He pulled onto the highway, definitely not speeding. "And we'll get Minho's cat. Yes, yes yes. We'll adopt our first cat together, he will be our son, and we will name him… whatever Minho wants." 

Jisung parked his car and sprinted to the garage door, throwing his keys onto the table somewhere. Minho wasn't in the kitchen, or the bedroom, or the bathroom. 

"Where is he? Hey, Minho, where are you? I need to confess my undying love for you!" 

Jisung ran back to the kitchen and yelped when his foot came in contact with a pink sticky note that almost sent him toppling to his death. "Fuck, he's at work." 

The Bugatti was peaking 120 miles per hour as Jisung flew down the highway, swerving between cars and scaring pedestrians. He was a man on a mission, and traffic wouldn't stop him. He parallel parked between two beaters that had tape for windows and ran to the entry line. Jisung didn't think so many people came to get hammered at 9 am, but who was he to judge? 

"Changbin, my dude. I need help." He panted, slapping a hand on Changbin's bicep to steady himself. God, he really needed to do more cardio. "I need in, pretty please with Felix's freckles on top?" Jisung batted his eyelashes at an unamused Changbin. 

"How dare you use Lixie against me?" The muscled man huffed. "You know I'm weak for my boyfriend."

Boyfriend? But he's on a date with-

No, Jisung. Minho, you're here for Minho. 

"So is that a yes?" 

Changbin rolled his eyes, but ushered him through the doors regardless, ignoring the annoyed groans of impatiently waiting patrons. 

"Thank you!" 

The neon lights of Cherry's always managed to give Jisung a headache, and that morning was no different. What was different, however, was the tears flooding his vision. 

He was stupid. Jisung was Minho's fuck buddy, no strings attached. As long as the dancer got his check at the end of the week, he could probably care less about who was fucking him. 

Jisung wanted to storm over and rip Minho from the man's lap, wanted to cry and scream and punch the wall. But instead, he quietly made his way to the exit, careful to avoid Minho's keen eye. 

Before he could leave the stuffy club, a hand grabbed his shoulder. 

"Sungie! What are you doing here?" Minho chirped, smiling bright enough to dim the stars. The skirt clinging to his slim waist left nothing to the imagination, and Jisung felt his jealousy flare. He shrugged Minho's hand off his shoulder and watched it fall back to his side awkwardly. "Are you okay?" 

No, no he wasn't. In fact, he was on the verge of a mental breakdown, but Minho didn't need to know. He didn't need any more power over Jisung. 

"I'm alright. Don't bother coming home tonight. I can pay you now and we'll end this here." Jisung grabbed the stack of checks from his wallet and a pen from the bar and began to write Minho's name on the recipient line. 

"What are you doing? Jisung, stop." Minho tugged at his hoodie sleeve with a frown. Jisung ignored him. "Jisung, I said stop." He tugged harder, and Jisung's elbow slipped off the countertop. "Stop writing!" Minho grabbed the pen and flung it across the counter, smashing it into dangerous plastic pieces that littered the floor. "Stop," he pleaded, tears falling down his cheeks. "Please, Sungie. Please stop." 

Jisung tilted his head, cocky, even though his heart screamed to pull Minho into his arms and never let his tears fall again. "Is this not what you wanted? I can give you more if you'd like." And he would. He would pay a million dollars to spare his heart. 

"I don't care about the money, Jisung." Minho scowled. "I care about you, you fucker. Is that all I've been to you, some whore to fuck?" 

No, never, you own my heart. 

"Yes, and now I'm trying to pay you, so how much do you want?" 

Minho shook his head in disbelief. "You're lying to me, Sung. I know you. What happened? Why are you trying to push me away?" 

Because I'm in love with you! 

"You wouldn't still be standing here if you knew." 

Minho leaned against the bar and softly brushed Jisung's bangs from his forehead. "That's for me to decide, alright?" 

I love you, I love you, I love you. Why couldn't he just say it? 

Everyone I love leaves me. That's not true. 

He only wants my money, I'll embarrass myself. He's been with so many people that I'll never measure up. "Jisung?" I can't emotionally be there for him. All I can offer is my body. "Sungie, hey, calm down baby." What if he gets tired of me? I'll always love him more than he loves me. "Ji, I need you to look at me." Look, Jisung. What's stopping you? Why won't you look at him? 

Minho's eyes held the warmth of a thousand fires, a passion hiding behind the dark irises. A galaxy swam in his eyes, and Jisung wanted to soar. 

"That's good, Sung. You're doing good. May I touch you?" 

He nodded. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Minho's heartbeat under his palm. 

Thumpthumpthumpthump. 

Jisung's heartbeat under his palm. 

Slowly, slowly, he evened out his breathing. His heart beat softly in his chest instead of trying to escape the confines of his ribcage. He needed to say it, or the words would choke him. 

"Minho, I lo-" 

"Hey Kitten, you've got a job to do!" A man, presumably Minho's boss from the snobby clothes and annoyed glare he was sporting, called out to them. Minho grimaced at the intrusion. 

"Sorry, I'll get back to it as soon as I finish with him." 

His boss scoffed and waved his hands towards Jisung. "Unless he's a picky client, you don't have to finish anything with him. You got a man waiting on a lap dance, that's unacceptable." 

"I'm sorry, please just let me finish," Minho begged, pouting at his boss. The man huffed but agreed. "Sorry, I really need to get back to work. What were you saying?" 

Jisung couldn't date Minho. He couldn't sleep at night knowing his boyfriend was helping other men with their unfortunate morning boners. Jisung didn't love himself by any means, but he knew he deserved someone who would give him their everything. Minho, as much as he hated the men, loved his job, and Jisung would never make him choose. 

"Come by to pick up your stuff, okay? I'll write you a check that I know you don't want, and we'll end this." 

Jisung left Minho dumbfounded by the exit of Cherry's Club. 


	9. nine

Minho missed his cat. He missed the orange fur on his skirts and the whiffs of fresh citrus from the kitty litter, but that was it. He hated his bare walls and the empty fridge. He hated the cheap apartment buildings and loud neighbors. 

Minho missed more being home than he did with Jisung. He missed the rapper's stupid "manly" cologne that stunk out the entire house. His platform converse that gave him the confidence of a six-foot man, his producing equipment lying on every surface in sight. He just really, really missed his Hannie. Maybe that was why he had a glass of neat tequila in his hands, and three more in his stomach. Maybe that was why his eyes were drooping, and giggles were uncontrollably spilling from his lips. 

The man sitting in front of him was not Jisung. He was quite the opposite, in fact. While Jisung was smooth edges, soft hair, bashful smiles, and short-tempered, the man was rough, from the gelled wave in his hair to the shining soles of his Jordans. Truthfully, the young man was attractive, but he was not Jisung. Channing Tatum could plop into the chair next to Minho, and he would be uninterested, all because his heart longed for Jisung. 

Minho sipped at his tequila, unwavering even when the liquid burned his throat. The man, Bomin, or something, poured him another glass with a smile that swooned everyone in proximity. 

“What do you say you take me to the back rooms, sweetheart?" Bomin purred, stuffing a fifty dollar bill down the front of Minho’s unbuttoned shorts. “There’s so much more where that came from.” Bomin’s bulging pockets proved his words to be correct, and Minho hastily agreed. He was too far gone to see the look Felix gave him from the stage or the way Bomin adjusted the object in his pockets. Minho was too far gone to see anything other than Jisung's back as he walked from the club, the tears in his eyes when Minho begged him to stay one last time. 

Minho giggled as he stumbled through the door leading to the back hallway, and Bomin grabbed his waist to keep him from toppling to the floor. 

“What's so funny, kitty?” Bomin asked, and Minho laughed harder. 

“I'm just so fucking sad,” he giggled. Bomin’s hands were warm on his waist, and if Minho closed his eyes he could pretend the palms and calloused fingers belonged to Jisung. Of course, Jisung never slipped his hands past Minho’s waistband to discard a twenty-dollar bill. And he never yelled when Minho stepped on his shoes. Damn, who was he kidding? Jisung was done with him. The only men who had any interest in him paid him for an hour of attention and left him alone the second they got their money's worth. 

Bomin knocked on the door coated in cheap velvet and pulled Minho inside. He locked it behind him, and the tequila in Minho’s system made way for a short rush of adrenaline. Locked doors didn't always lead to disaster, Minho learned. But when a door was locked by a tenant, things tended to get messy. 

“Can you unlock the door, please? I'm not comfortable with it locked," Minho asked, fighting against the bile rising in his throat. He didn't mean to get so drunk, but heartache often led to recklessness. Bomin laughed, loud and condescending, and tossed Minho’s limp body onto the bedsheets. The air was swept from his lungs upon impact, and paired with the alcohol numbing his senses, he was practically defenseless. Bomin descended upon him like an eagle, wings spread, and intentions deadly. 

Minho kicked blindly with what little strength he had, but Bomin pinned his legs down easily. It wasn't until Bomin produced a pair of clunky metal handcuffs that Minho began to hyperventilate. He kicked, bit, scratched at Bomin’s arms, creating small red lines that disappeared in seconds. 

“Oh, kitty, what's gotten into you? Be good for me, doll, and put your hands up.” Bomin cooed, grabbing Minho’s wrist and locking one side of the handcuffs. 

“No, no, no. Get off, please. I don't like this.” Minho pleaded. 

Bomin tsked and traced the outline of Minho’s quivering lips with his finger before latching onto his neck. “Silly, silly kitten. I don't care what you like.” The other handcuff snapped shut, and Minho was trapped. Bomin gripped the inside of his thighs and spread his legs, leaving a trail of saliva as he licked across Minho’s flexible body. 

“Please,” he whimpered. “Please let me go.” 

Bomin growled and tied his t-shirt around Minho’s mouth as a makeshift gag. “Good kitties purr, so shut up and take it.” 

Minho’s flexed muscles relaxed, and he went pliant in Bomin’s arms. Who was he to fight? As long as he got paid, no one gave a fuck what happened to him, especially not the club. Jisung wasn't going to barge through the door and break Bomin’s nose, Felix was probably in a similar predicament, and Changbin had no authority. 

Bomin peeled the shorts off Minho’s legs and tossed them to the floor. The stuffy air against his flaccid cock made him uncomfortable, and he subconsciously crossed his ankles. Bomin had no interest in pleasuring Minho, he just needed somewhere warm to stick his dick. With rough hands, Bomin flipped Minho onto his stomach, ignoring Minho’s scream of pain as his wrists twisted in the handcuffs. Minho heard Bomin pant above him, and the familiar clang of belted jeans hitting the floor before an unlubed finger plunged into him. He cried out at the sting, struggling to get away as Bomin twisted and turned, searching for his prostate. 

Two fingers, three fingers, four, Minho was a mess. Tears, snot, and drool created a puddle on the pillow beneath his face, and he could feel blood dripping from his torn asshole. Jisung would murder someone if he saw the state Minho was in, but Bomin didn't care. He fingered Minho wildly, no exterior motive other than to hear Minho scream. And scream he did, especially when the head of Bomin’s cock stretched his rim further. Especially when his shaft slid in with nothing but blood as lube, and the loudest when Bomin fucked him mercilessly, letting his head slam against the wooden headboard. 

Minho focused on the pounding of his heartbeat, on the steady tick of the clock on the wall that showed his shift was over. Anything other than the slap of balls against his thighs and the small rivers of blood on his ass. 

“Fuck,” Bomin groaned. “I can't wait to breed your cute ass.” 

Minho’s eyes widened in his skull, and he wiggled furiously. No, no way in hell was he allowing this monster to cum in him. Only Jisung could. His precious Sungie that always asked if he was comfortable. Who made sure to place a pillow under Minho’s hips if he got tired. Jisung, who bathed Minho when he finished. Jisung, who fainted at the sight of blood and hated handcuffs. 

Bomin came with a moan that made Felix’s voice sound as squeaky as a mouse. Minho cried, and cried, and cried. Tears fell onto his tongue and down his bare chest. They fell long after Bomin left him handcuffed to the bed and leaking cum. And continued even when Minho’s sobs stopped and his wrists went numb. 

Hyunjin found him, hours later, staring at the clock on the wall and counting the seconds that passed. 

“Jesus Christ, Minho! Are you alright?” Hyunjin frantically picked at the locked handcuffs, eyes trailing from Minho’s numb expression to the bloody cum mixture by his feet. 

“Jisung,” Minho croaked, throat raw from screaming.

“What? Did he do this to you?” The handcuffs fell to the bed, and Minho cursed at the pain that shot through his shoulders. He wiggled his fingers and twisted his wrists, but quickly stopped when he realized the pain was more than a superficial loss of blood circulation. 

“I want Jisung.” Minho sobbed, curling into himself on the bed. Hyunjin nodded and reached out to softly rub Minho’s shaking frame. 

“I'll get him for you, Min, but maybe we should clean you up first?” 

Minho whined and shook his head. “No! I want Jisung. Please, please, please.” 

Hyunjin continued to gently massage Minho’s aching shoulders and dialed Jisung’s number with his free hand. The phone rang for three seconds at most before Jisung’s groggy voice echoed through the speakers. 

“It's too late for this shit, Hyunjin. What do you want?” He grumbled. Jisung’s voice sent whatever sanity Minho had left out the door. 

“Hannie,” he sniffled, smiling as he grabbed Hyunjin’s phone and held it to his chest. “Can you come here?” 

Jisung sighed on the other end. “Minho, please. I thought I told you we were done. Don't use Hyunjin to get to me.”

“No, Jisung, please! You don't understand, I need you.” 

“I needed you, too, Min. I know its hard, but you’ll stop missing me, or my dick, or whatever.” 

Hyunjin took the phone from Minho's shaking hands. "Ji, come to Cherry Club, okay? Something bad happened. If you're not here in the next fifteen minutes, I'm taking Minho and dealing with his rapist myself."

"His what? What did you just say, Hyunjin?" Jisung hissed. Minho heard shuffling in the background, probably Jisung throwing on whatever shirt was closest, dirty or not. 

Hyunjin sighed. "Fifteen minutes, Sung."

"I’ll be there."


	10. ten

Jisung was dead asleep when he got the call, and Jisung never slept. He didn't fall asleep until his body collapsed from exhaustion and his eyelids were too heavy to hold. He wasn't sure if it was his insomnia or his anxiety that kept him awake for days on end, he just knew that he was moments away from passing out on his living room floor when he finally shut his eyes. Jisung’s ringtone was a soft piano piece that hardly alerted him during silence, so why the hell was it so damn loud? 

Groggily, he picked up the vibrating device and accepted the call. He didn't care if it was the President on the other line, he would not be woken up without consequence. 

“What do you want?” He grunted. Hyunjin huffed through the speaker, chewing Jisung out at two in the morning and spewing nonsense he was too tired to comprehend. “It's too late for this shit, Hyunjin. What do you want?” 

“Hannie.” 

Oh good fucking god, Jisung couldn’t catch a break. Minho’s sniffly voice transported Jisung back, and suddenly he was storming out of the club, trying and failing to distract himself from Minho’s devastated cries. 

“Can you come here?” Minho asked, and Jisung almost caved. He’s never heard Minho sound so pitiful, not when he left, not when he retold the alleyway incident, and not when Bambam said those awful things to him. Something in Jisung’s guarded heart crumbled, but he knew better. 

He sighed and rubbed the gunk from his bloodshot eyes. “Minho, please. I thought I told you we were done.” He was stern, despite wanting to run into Minho’s arms like an eager puppy. “Don’t use Hyunjin to get to me.” 

“No!” Minho yelled. Jisung winced at his shrill tone and placed his phone on his bedside table, hitting the speaker button before pulling his blanket over his head. “Jisung, please. You don't understand, I need you.” 

I need you. Why would Minho possibly need him? What did he have to offer that Minho couldn’t find elsewhere? Ah, he knew what it was.

“I needed you too, Min. I know it's hard, but you’ll stop missing me, or my dick, or whatever.” 

My money was unspoken. 

“Ji, come to Cherry Club, okay?” Hyunjin demanded. Jisung wanted to scream. He swore the day he left he’d never again see the neon sign of Cherry Club as long as he lived. “Something bad happened.” What could possibly be so awful that Hyunjin had to-  
“If you're not here in the next fifteen minutes, I'm taking Minho and dealing with his rapist myself.” 

The air in Jisung’s lungs escaped in a guttural hiss, and he tossed his blanket to the floor. “His what? What did you just say, Hyunjin?” He snarled, tossing a shirt over his naked torso. It smelt like nacho cheese and coffee beans, but he had bigger problems than dirty laundry. He would fucking murder whoever laid a hand on his Minho. 

Hyunjin sighed. “Fifteen minutes, Sung.” 

“I’ll be there.” 

Hell, he’d be there in five at the max, no matter what buildings or cars he had to barrel through on his way. Jisung grabbed the first pair of keys on the rack and hit unlock. 

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” he deadpanned when the purple Chiron beeped to life. It seems that his body and his mind were drowning in thoughts of Minho. He slid into the driver's seat and sped out of the garage. 

The speedometer said he was going 120 down the highway, and he knew he could go faster. His car was a blur of purple lights as he weaved between merging cars and terrified pedestrians. God, would Minho really be the reason for his first speeding ticket? He was usually careful with his driving, street racing on backroads Google maps had never seen. So why the hell was he pushing 200 on a public highway littered with egotistical cops? (ACAB, by the way). Oh yeah, Minho. Minho and the guy who was about to be six feet under. 

He parked (not really), and raced to the entrance, pushing past Changbin and the waiting patrons. 

“Yo, Jisung. What the fuck, man?” Changbin jogged over to Jisung, grabbing his wrist. Jisung turned on the buff guard, pupils dilated, and chest heaving. 

“Where’s Minho? Tell me where he is, Changbin!”

Changbin recoiled at his tone, and placed a comforting hand on Jisung's shoulder. “Are you okay, Ji?” 

“Is he in the backrooms?” 

“Yeah, some guy took him- hey! Jisung, where are you going? You're not allowed back there.” Changbin yelled after him. Jisung threw open the door and ran down the hallway, opening doors left and right. He gagged when he opened a door and exposed a very naked Felix and Chan. 

“Jisung! Please don’t tell Changbin,” Felix pleaded, pulling on a pair of skimpy shorts. But it was too late, Jisung was already scarred. 

“I don’t give a fuck about your boyfriend right now. Where’s Minho?” Jisung asked while throwing the shirt lying by his feet at a flustered Chan. 

“Check the velvet door.” 

“Han Jisung, get your ass back here!” Changbin scolded, slamming Jisung against the wall. “Are you on something, man? I mean it.” Jisung was sweating, his pupils were huge, and he was panicking, so Changbin wasn’t too far off. His adrenaline was pumping through his body like a shot of espresso straight to his bloodstream. “Felix? I told you I didn’t like you working with clients back here.” Changbin’s arm that was pressing gently on his throat loosened, and Jisung slipped away. “Chan? What are you doing here? What’s going on?” 

Jisung ran to the velvet door at the end of the hallway, pretending Changbin’s heartbroken scream didn’t make him sick, and threw the door open. Hyunjin jumped at the noise, and Minho managed to contort his body to see Jisung’s fuming expression. 

“Sungie,” he whimpered, and Jisung rushed to his side. 

“Oh, angel.” Jisung sat on the bed and brushed his fingers through Minho’s tangled hair. “What did he do to you?” 

“I’m leaving, Ji,” Hyunjin announced, grabbing the damaged handcuffs off of the floor. “Be gentle with him.” And the door shut. 

Minho grabbed the hand brushing through his hair and held it against his chest. Jisung could feel Minho’s heartbeat on his palm, a rapid one-two that made his stomach churn with fury. Purple and blue bruises surrounded Minho’s small wrist like a sadistic bracelet, and Jisung was reminded why he came. 

“May I touch you?” He asked quietly, and Minho nodded. “I’m going to touch your legs now.” Jisung fetched a pair of sweatpants from his haphazardly packed emergency duffel bag and gently spread Minho’s sore legs. The dancer flinched but allowed Jisung to carefully flip him onto his back. Only then did Jisung notice the dark patch on the bedsheets, and the similarly colored rivulet trailing down Minho’s thighs. “I’ll kill him.” Jisung seethed, wiping the blood from Minho’s body with some baby wipes. 

“Please don’t hurt him.” 

“Can you sit up for me, babe?” 

Minho sat up slowly, his spine painfully readjusting. “Jisung, don’t hurt him.” 

“I’m going to put a hoodie on now, is that alright?” Jisung lifted Minho’s arms and pulled the hoodie over his bruised torso. 

“I just want to go home.” 

Jisung helped Minho stand, tying the laces on the Converse he brought for him. He stood up and locked eyes with the terrified dancer. “If I leave this club knowing he’s in here, dancing and drinking while you can barely walk, I will never forgive myself. I’ll take you to your apartment, Min, I promise, just let me do this first.” 

Minho stumbled to the hallway door with Jisung’s arm tight around his waist. “I don’t want to go to my apartment.” 

“But you wanted to go home?” 

“You're my home, Jisung. I want you.” 

Jisung froze abruptly, and Minho slammed into his side. 

“He did it, didn't he?” 

Minho followed Jisung’s gaze to Bomin, who was sitting at a booth with his friends, laughing and teasing the dancer in his lap. All five men were picking at the young boy, tugging at his skirt and pulling his blue hair. Minho’s silence was answer enough. Jisung walked him to the bar and helped him hop onto a stool, eyes locked on Bomin’s easygoing face. 

“No one wants to see their home damaged.” Minho cupped Jisung’s cheeks and kissed him softly. “Be careful.” 

Jisung tsked and cracked his knuckles. “I’m always careful.”

Minho almost felt remorse for Bomin when Jisung tackled him from behind, pinning him to the floor. The man’s shocked friends had seconds to react before Jisung’s fist made contact with Bomin’s perfectly sloped nose. The blue-haired dancer ran from the table during the distraction, and Minho caught him in his arms. Jesus Christ, when did Jeongin even start dancing? He was too young to be shaking his ass for a few bucks, and the scared twitching of his eyes broke Minho. 

That was him once. Minho may have gotten older, but he could never forget his eighteen-year-old self, homeless and desperate. Jeongin cuddled further into Minho’s hoodie as the crowd gathered around Jisung and Bomin.

Jisung, despite his nonchalance, was still a local celebrity. So when the phones began recording, Minho knew they had to leave. He grabbed Jeongin’s shaking hand and pushed his way to the center of the crowd. Bomin’s lip was split and gushing blood, his nose was crooked, and he was sporting a dangerously dark black eye. Jisung noticed Minho in the crowd, and his stance wavered. Bomin took the opportunity to slam his fist into Jisung’s ribcage, and the rapper doubled over. 

“Sungie!” Minho shoved Bomin into the table and frantically pushed Jisung towards the exit. Jeongin followed behind the pair with his tail tucked and head hung, a hesitant homeless puppy. “Maybe you really are on something,” Minho mumbled after shutting the passenger door and pulling Jeongin into his lap. Jisung chuckled and revved the engine, speeding from the club just as the police sirens wailed. 

“Did we really adopt a kid before going on our first date?” Jisung asked, raising an eyebrow at Jeongin. The teenager was curled up in Minho’s lap, sleeping through Jisung’s annoyingly loud exhaust. He looked peaceful, clinging to Minho, and Jisung briefly imagined a life where Jeongin was actually their kid. It was nice. 

“Oh? I didn't know we were going on a date?” 

Jisung scoffed and shifted gears to park. “I think a date is long overdue.” Minho shook Jeongin awake, and the trio stumbled sleepily and painfully to Jisung’s garage door. Jisung tossed his keys on the countertop, and gestured Jeongin to follow him. 

“Come on, Jeongin. I’ll set you up in the spare room.” Jisung ruffled Jeongin’s fluffy hair and led him to the room opposite of his. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeongin whispered when Jisung handed him an old t-shirt and shorts. “I’ll be gone before you wake up, I swear.” 

“Stop by whenever you want. I don’t mind.” Jisung tenderly kissed Jeongin's forehead, and patted his shoulder. “Sleep well.” He grabbed the door handle but stopped when Jeongin’s body rammed into his. The teenager clung tightly to Jisung's abdomen, hugging him like he would disappear, like it was all a dream. 

“Thank you so much.” 

Jisung could never truly understand how grateful Jeongin was, having grown up with a lavish house and no financial struggles. But he knew how it felt to finally feel loved, and he silently pulled Jeongin into his chest. “It’s what you deserve.” 

“Goodnight, Jisung!” Jeongin chirped when he pulled away. 

Jisung shut the door with a smile and flopped onto his own bed. “I’m so tired,” he whined, face buried in his memory foam pillow. The bathroom door opened, and the humidity seeped into his heavy clothes. 

Jisung felt the bed dip beside him, and Minho’s fingers brush soothingly along his spine. "Thank you for coming, Hannie. It means a lot to me." Minho laid his head on Jisung’s back and drew shapeless patterns on the rapper’s skin. 

"You mean a lot to me," Jisung confessed. "I’m sorry for kicking you out. I’m sorry for thinking you only wanted my money. You’re my everything, Minho." 

Minho sat up, and Jisung turned onto his back. “Take me on a date tomorrow. For reals, this time.” 

Jisung smiled, eyes sparkling. “I’ll take you on a thousand dates.”


	11. eleven

Recovery is not linear. It is a tedious process with multiple setbacks and exceptions. How do people truly determine if they are "getting better"? Is it how happy they are? By how easy it becomes? I don't believe so. "Getting better" is acknowledging that an event has occurred and actively seeking help to cope with it, regardless of how little progress is made. Do not be discouraged when simple touches, the glint of a blade, or a plate full of food triggers you. RECOVERY IS NOT LINEAR! Take your time, recover safely and effectively. 

Stories, especially in fanfictions, often downplay the grueling aftermath of rape incidents or suicide attempts. Never has it been, and never will it be my intention to do so. Both are serious topics that should not be written about/spoken about lightly. My stories often mention suicide and self-harm because they are topics I have experienced and am educated enough to write about, the before AND the after. I hope to make this story realistic and accurately portray the thoughts and emotions of a rape victim, despite my lack of experience. If my depictions are inaccurate, please message/comment and tell me. 

Jisung scrolled through his Instagram feed, liking random photos and saving car videos to his Instagram folders. Minho's soft voice drifted in and out, fluctuating with the slapping of water against bathroom tiles, humming a beautiful melody Jisung recognized as his. Jisung's promise of a date had fallen through after Chan called him for an urgent meeting with a recording agency, and the days spent planning their album concept pushed date night to the side. 

Minho understood how critical this record deal was to 3racha and never fussed about the indefinite delay on their date. Jisung loved him more for it, and any moment not dedicated to keeping Chan and Changbin civil, creating music, or meeting with their manager he spent with Minho. 

But when he saw the ad for a classical ballet performance in Seoul, he knew he needed to take Minho. The tickets hardly touched his loaded bank account, and the two-hour trip would provide them the quality time their relationship lacked. 

The bathroom door opened, and Jisung tossed his phone to the side. "Hey, doll. How was your shower?" Minho shivered at the pet name and shook his head. 

Be good for me, doll, and put your hands up. 

"Please don't call me that." 

Jisung tilted his head and hummed. "Why not? I thought you liked the pet names?" 

Minho licked his lips and tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper by Jisung's closet, nearly tipping the entire basket over. "Just don't, alright? It's not fucking complicated." He snapped, and Jisung held out his hands in surrender. 

"Jesus, sorry." Jisung picked up his discarded phone and aimlessly opened and closed his few social media apps, eyeing Minho through his peripherals. The dancer shook like a boat on choppy waves, and Jisung gently grabbed his wrist to anchor him. "You know that date we were gonna go on?" Jisung intertwined their fingers, and Minho's unfocused eyes followed the movement. "Are you busy tonight?" 

He wasn't, Jisung knew. He hadn't been busy since the day his spirit died, taking the boy Jisung adored with it. Minho practically lived on the living room couch, staring at whatever cartoon was on TV, but not really watching. It killed Jisung to see Minho, determined, lovable, fuck you all Minho, melting into the couch cushions. Sometimes he worried about leaving Minho alone during the day to record. He was unpredictable, and it would be the end for Jisung if he came home to a lifeless Minho, his heart feeling so hopeless he forced it to stop. 

"I'm not busy," Minho replied, damp hair dripping on the bedsheets he hadn't slept on in weeks. 

"Can I take you on a date today? Somewhere in Seoul?" Jisung kissed the contours of Minho knuckles, chapped lips gliding over the bruised skin of his wrists, one of which was still in a brace. 

"What are we doing in Seoul?" 

"It's a surprise." 

Minho sighed and brushed his free hand across Jisung's soft cheeks, grazing across his bottom lip. "Jisung..." He began, and the rapper heard his hesitance. 

"I need you to trust me," Jisung begged, standing up to be level with Minho. "Trust me." 

Minho blinked, and a priceless drop of pure agony leaped from his lashes. The tear started a waterfall of pain that sent Minho to his knees, clutching to Jisung's shirt like a drowning man to a lifesaver. Jisung crouched by his side and let Minho scream into his shirt, every silenced scream tearing from his lungs like a riptide. 

"I want to. I want to so bad. Why me, Jisung? Why did it have to be me?" 

Jisung kissed his forehead and leaned his cheek against Minho's hair. "I don't know, Minho. I honestly don't know." 

"I'm so sick of it; the crying, the memories, everything." Minho sniffled. "He should've just killed me." 

"No! Don't you ever fucking say that." Jisung reached for Minho's face that was snuggled into his t-shirt, but the dancer evaded his hold. "Look at me." Minho didn't budge. "Minho, look at me!" He carefully lifted his head, and Jisung was quick to grab his face, fingers tangling in the hair behind his ears. "You're alive, angel. You're alive, and you can heal. You can't do that if you're dead, you can't leave me here." 

"I don't want to heal. I want to forget." 

Jisung didn't know what to say. 

Minho chuckled dryly in his arms. "God, I can't believe I ruined the day already." He rubbed at his sore eyes with the back of his hands. "I'll go, Sung. What should I wear?" 

His sudden change in mood had Jisung reeling, and he replied on autopilot. "Something fancy." 

"Something fancy, got it." Minho rummaged through his side of the closet, grabbed a bundle of colorful clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom. Jisung stood in shock for a moment until his brain returned to his skull, and he grabbed his favorite classy outfit, stored in the back of his wardrobe for special occasions. He opted to use the spare bathroom, also stocked with necessary hygiene products, and quietly shut his bedroom door on the way out. 

"Okay, Jisung, you've got this," he pep-talked his reflection. "It's just Minho, not the love of your life or anything." He pulled his black and coral button-up over his torso, pairing it with a black blazer that rested above his hips. He pulled a pair of slim-fitted cargo pants across his legs, the zippers clanking as he did so. His precious 925 sterling silver chain was hanging in the bathroom Minho occupied, so his jewelry would have to wait. 

"What am I supposed to do with my hair?" He whined, ruffling the scattered pieces of freshly bleached hair. It was getting long, and Minho loved to remind him every time he playfully tugged on the growing strands. Jisung didn't care for the floppy bangs that obscured his vision, but his manager and Minho loved it, and that was reason enough to keep it. He wrangled it into a simple side part that showcased the silver hoops hanging from his ears and slipped his limited edition Doc Martens on his feet.   
  
He sprayed a generous (overwhelming) amount of cologne around his body and left the bathroom. "Minho! Are you done yet?" He called from where he was lacing up his boots, precariously balancing on the wall. 

"Is this okay?" 

Jisung glanced from his awkward position on the wall and almost toppled over. Minho had on a beige cropped sweater, nothing underneath, with a pair of tight-fitting khakis situated right under his naval. A small sliver of skin peeked through when he twirled to show Jisung his entire outfit, from his dangling teardrop earrings to his spotless high-top Converse. 

Jisung spluttered, a warm blush covering his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "You're beautiful, but are you comfortable? Be honest. You could wear a hoodie and still be the prettiest boy in the room, sweetheart." 

What do you say you take me to the back rooms, sweetheart? There's so much more where that came from.

"Minho?" 

Minho inhaled, counted to five, and nodded. "I'm comfortable." 

"Should we go? The sh- I mean, our reservation is at seven, and it's almost four." 

Minho smiled and tossed Jisung his favorite set of purple keys. They buckled up, and Jisung sped off, reaching the highway in no time. Every so often, the fluffy cat keychain Minho added to the keyring banged against his leg, and he grumbled as he swatted it away. Minho giggled in the passenger seat, grabbing Jisung's hand and placing it under his on the gear shift. 

"Is that what you'll do to my cat? Should I tell Dori her other father doesn't want her?" Minho teased, fingers toying with the diamond-studded band around Jisung's wrist. 

"Hey, where's your wrist brace? You shouldn't leave it," Jisung scolded. Minho thought he sounded like a concerned grandmother and not his attractive date. 

"Relax, Sung. I'll be fine for one night." 

Jisung sighed. "If you say so, and no. Tell Dori her father loves her dearly and would never hang her from a set of keys." 

"Are you making fun of me?" 

Jisung cocked an eyebrow and smirked at Minho's accusing expression. "I don't know, am I?" 

"You're lucky you're driving. I just might give you a piece of my mind." 

Jisung snorted and shifted gears with Minho's hand still atop his, speeding past the other cars on the highway. The car was silent for a short while after that comment, save for Jisung's occasional road rage and Minho's singing, till Minho turned down the radio (a catchy song by TREI). 

"What's up?" Jisung asked, merging onto the exit to Seoul. They had at least forty-five minutes left in their trip, plus the usual city traffic, and the GPS said arrival time was 6:27. 

"Have you ever had your dick sucked in a car?" 

Jisung swerved, narrowly avoiding a pissed-off biker. "Uh, not that I recall, no. Have, uh, have you?"   
  
"Yep," Minho cheekily popped the p, eyes locked on his very embarrassed companion. "Wanna try it out?" 

"Pace yourself, babe. I'm not going to leave you if you don't sleep with me, so slow down. Let yourself cope, alright?" The light turned red, and Jisung pulled Minho in for a sweet kiss, allowing room for him to escape if he chose to do so. "Alright?" 

"Alright," Minho grumbled, flopping back against the headrest. "Really, though, if you ever want me to-"

"Lee Minho!"

"Just a suggestion." 

___________

Jisung turned into the opera house parking lot at 6:52, tickets ready on his phone screen. Minho insisted on getting snacks from the gas station, and the candy boxes littered the floor of his front seat. Minho was eagerly chomping on a Junior Mint when he noticed the car stopped moving. 

"Oh? We're here already?" 

Jisung rolled his eyes and snatched the box of candy from Minho's hands. "Yes, and we'll be late if you don't hurry up." The car door slammed shut, and Minho wiped the chocolate remnants from his mouth, applying a second coat of strawberry lipgloss. 

"We'll be late if you don't hurry up," Minho repeated, tone mocking. He shut his door and jogged to catch up with Jisung, who was showing his online tickets to the bored woman in the booth. She scanned the barcode and waved them towards section A, the front-most section. Minho was still oblivious to where Jisung had taken him, too enthralled by the velvet curtains and high ceilings of the opera house. They took their seats in the middle of the first row, behind the orchestra pit, and it finally clicked. 

"Oh my fucking god, oh my god, oh my god," Minho squealed, slapping Jisung on the shoulder. "Han Jisung, you did not just bring me to a ballet performance."

"Why? Do you not like it? I'm sorry, I thought you would." 

"Are you kidding me?" Minho deadpanned. "I love it. I love you." He leaned across the armrest to kiss Jisung, leaving a slick shine of lipgloss on his puffy bottom lip. "This is the best date ever." 

The orchestra fell silent, practice time over, and the curtains opened. Jisung was sure the performance of Romeo and Juliet was beautiful, probably breathtaking with the extravagant props and flashy costumes, but he was distracted by the dashing smile on Minho's face. Maybe it was the spotlights, but for the first time since the club, Jisung saw the sparkles return to Minho's eyes, and he vowed to do anything he could to get Minho back on the stage. 

"Holy shit, Sung, did you see how they kissed? And while on pointe? Absolutely stunning," Minho gushed as they exited the opera house, clutching his chest. "Here, here, act it out with me." 

Jisung stared at him blankly. "I gotta be honest, Min. I spent the entire show staring at you, and I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"During the pas de deux? The balcony scene?" 

He shook his head, and Minho pouted. "Fine, just grab my waist." Minho instructed, and Jisung latched on. "Softly, dumbass. Good, now I just..." Minho rose onto his toes, pecking Jisung's lips. "Perfect." He pulled away with a shy smile, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Be my boyfriend." Jisung blurted, still holding Minho's waist in the middle of the parking lot. "Please? If you want to?"

Minho laughed and melted into Jisung's embrace. "Of course, Sungie. I'd love to be your boyfriend." 

"Oh, that's cool." Jisung stared at Minho's shimmering eyes and his oh-so-tempting glossy lips. "Should we kiss now, or...?" Minho kissed Jisung's top lip, moving back with a playful grin. 

"We should." 

French-kissing in a public location wasn't a great idea, but slamming Minho against the hood of his car to suck a hickey into his neck wasn't even a good one, and after way too many awkward waves, they took their leave. 

Minho somehow found the last box of Mike and Ike's beneath the passenger seat, and was giddily munching on them the entire way home, and if he used his tongue to give some to Jisung? Well, that was between him and the cat keychain. 


	12. twelve

Chan sat on Jisung's couch, brow furrowed as he scrolled through his emails. Changbin sat by his side, surprisingly keeping his snarky remarks to himself. "The company has decided to sign your group, 3racha, in a contract eligible for one album promotion period. If successful, we will discuss a further contract," Chan read the message aloud. Changbin's scowl, aimed at Chan since he discovered the relationship between him and Felix, morphed into a fleeting smile at the news. 

Jisung clapped his hands together and threw his body onto the sitting duo. "We did it!" He cheered, pumping his fists in the air and narrowly avoiding knocking Chan's perfect pearly whites out of his face. The older man shoved Jisung off his lap, and he fell to the floor with a grunt. "Wait until I tell my boyfriend about this slander." 

Chan chuckled and closed his laptop, sliding it under the couch where Jisung's clumsy ass couldn't destroy it. "Oh yeah? You ever seen Felix in a fight? He would kick your ass, Sung." 

The mention of Felix had Changbin squirming in his seat, probably resisting the urge to cry or murder someone. Chan wasn't oblivious to the turmoil the Australian's name caused, and usually avoided mentioning him or any crushes in Changbin's presence. But the excitement overcoming his body blocked out his careful filter. 

"He's going to be so excited," Chan gushed, already typing a message into his phone, presumably to Felix. "I really like him." The elder confessed. Jisung glanced at Changbin to see him twirling his phone, unaffected, but the subtle shake of his hands was visible even with Jisung's horrible eyesight. Jisung opened his mouth to comment on Chan's blunt confession, but Changbin waved him off. 

"We were toxic, Ji. And as hard as it is to admit it, he is better off with Chan. He's..." Changbin hesitated, a guilty frown on his lips. "...happier." He turned his attention to Chan and grabbed the leader's veiny hands in his pudgy ones. "Thank you for making him happy when I couldn't." His voice was dripping with sincerity, an unusual sight for the typically guarded Changbin. "If we're going to continue this journey together, then we need to be more than civil. This isn't a crumbling relationship, like Felix and I, this is forever." Jisung hummed, and Chan nodded. 

"Is there anything you want to say to me?" Chan asked after a few awkward beats of silence. 

Changbin laughed and swung their interlocked hands. "Do I have permission to say it?" 

"Yes, of course. It's the least I could do after..." 

"Stealing my boyfriend?" Chan nodded. Changbin sighed thoughtfully and sunk further into the couch cushions. "I hated you, still do, a little bit. Like, how dare my best friend betray me? I don't hate you for sleeping with Felix. I think I always knew he was with someone else, but I hate you for not telling me. Felix and I... our relationship hurt us both, and I was the one too scared to let go. I know Felix better than anybody in the world, from his body to his fucked-up mind, and I thought that if I let him go, someone would come along and destroy what little life he had left." Changbin fiddled with the couple necklace resting above the collar of his shirt. "I wish you told me it was you, Chan. I trust you with my everything, and Felix was my everything." 

Chan leaned his head on Changbin's shoulder. "I'm sorry for lying to you." 

Changbin reassuringly patted his fluffy hair. "I don't forgive you, not yet, but I won't hold it against you."

"Hey! You're saying you wouldn't trust me to take care of Lix?" Jisung whined, wriggling between the two from his spot on the floor. Changbin chuckled and threw his arm across Jisung's shoulders.

"Yeah, okay, like I would entrust the love of my life to the man who somehow killed a fake plant." Changbin snorted, and Jisung's pout deepened. 

"For the record, I have kept Minho alive for almost two months now, all by myself." Jisung proudly announced, crossing his arms with a triumphant smirk. 

"No, you haven't. I'm starving in your giant house, Hannie," Minho teased, and placed his heels on the shoe rack by the door. Jisung had yet to use it, and he tripped over his straying shoes more often than not. Minho, however, stocked the cheap rack with his Louis Vuitton heels (courtesy of Jisung) and skating shoes (also Jisung). 

"Babe!" Jisung perked up. "Help, they're making fun of me." 

Minho walked over and pecked Jisung's glossy lips from behind the couch. "Sounds like the truth to me." Jisung threw his hands up in defeat and flopped to the floor, cheek pressed against the hardwood. Felix chose that moment to join his friends in Jisung's spacious living room, and curiously pointed at the mop of blonde hair on the floor. His shiny outfit was exchanged for a pair of Chan's sweats and a faded Nirvana t-shirt, while Minho was still dressed pretty in his shorts and velvet shirt. 

Jisung sat up and tugged on the waistband of Minho's (hardly there) shorts. "You should go shower," he whispered to the older. "I don't like other people seeing you like this, kitten." 

Silly, silly kitten. I don't care what you like.

The snap of a handcuff, his erratic breathing, noescapenoescapeno-

Minho swallowed and backed away from Jisung, fear in his honey eyes. 

Jisung tilted his head and brushed his fingers across Minho's palm, tracing the creases. "What's wrong?"

"You're right. I should go shower." Minho scrambled from the floor and disappeared into their bedroom. His franticness alarmed Jisung, but he knew better than to pry in front of their friends. He would just ask Minho about it tomorrow.

_______________

Jisung didn't ask Minho the next day. He woke up to Chan's obnoxious ringtone from some TV show he liked, telling Jisung they had an emergency meeting with JYP at ten. His bedside clock, way too bright for his unadjusted eyes, read 9:47, and he panicked. Jisung threw the covers onto Minho, who grunted at the extra heat, before bolting to the bathroom. His toothbrush wobbled between his teeth as he patted moisturizer into his dry skin and rubbed a stick of deodorant on his armpits.

"What's going on, Sung?" Minho mumbled, rubbing at his pretty eyes. He was watching Jisung from the bathroom doorway, wrapped in the softest blanket on Jisung's bed. 

"Meeting wif da copany," he mumbled around the toothbrush in his mouth. He was positive Minho hadn't understood a word he said, but the dancer nodded anyway, kissing Jisung's cheek before flopping back into his blanket cocoon and closing his eyes. 

9:51, Chan was going to kill him. He pulled a hoodie over his tank top and kept his pajama sweatpants (with a bleach stain on the bottom he hoped Chan wouldn't notice). He grabbed a granola bar, peanut butter, ew, and rushed to the JYP building. It was about fifteen minutes from his house on a regular day, but Jisung very legally made it in eight. Chan and Changbin were sitting cross-legged in the lobby, computer bags by their sides, and Jisung flopped next to them. 

"That was fast. I thought it would take you longer." Chan chuckled, glancing at Jisung briefly, and shaking his head at the boy's outfit choice. 

Jisung huffed. "Well, the meeting should be starting soon, right? Where is he?" 

"Oh, the meeting doesn't start until 10:30, I just needed to make sure you got here." Chan smiled cheekily, and Jisung's jaw dropped. He swore if they weren't in public he would kick the Australian's ass back to where he came from. Any thoughts of murdering Chan were put on pause when a young woman approached the trio, three visitors passes in her hands. Her tiny fingers sent Felix's small hands running for the hills, and Jisung gently grabbed his pass, like any sudden movement would shatter her. 

"You are 3racha, right?"

Chan, always the parent, nodded for them. 

"Perfect. I'm going to take you to the meeting room and confirm your paperwork before the CEO arrives. Follow me this way, please." She led them down a long corridor filled with other meeting rooms, not that Jisung peeked, or whatever, and through a door that beeped when she scanned her keycard. This hallway was broader, with fewer doors and more water fountains. Jisung was too scared to try his spying luck again and assumed it was a dance practice hall. "Meeting rooms," the woman began, filling the awestruck silence. "Are for walk-in trainees. Artists contacted directly by JYP meet in his office at the end of this hallway. Boss is currently evaluating one of our new girl groups, Itzy. You may have heard of them." 

Jisung and Changbin made eye contact and flushed red to their necks. Nights of horrible karaoke singing to Icy and Dalla Dalla plagued their minds, and Jisung laughed off his embarrassment. "Yeah, we've heard some songs." The lady hummed and swiped her card again, holding the door open for them to shuffle through. JYP's office was smaller than Jisung imagined, with less super expensive equipment and more wayward stacks of paper. They took a seat in the three rolling chairs sat in front of his large desk, and the woman took the CEO's chair. She shuffled through the stacks of paper before finding what she was searching for. 

"You submitted these applications about three months ago, has anything drastic changed?" She asked, handing the forms to their allotted owners. 

Chan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Uh, yes. I'm no longer single." 

"And I'm not dating anyone," Changbin piped up, leaning over Chan to grab a pen and scribble in a different bubble. Jisung did the same, seeing as he now had a wonderful boyfriend waiting for him at home. The rest of the information was correct, and he handed his form back to her. It felt like middle school all over again. Handing in his permission slip with an anxious smile, and sighing in relief when the check his mother gave him was safe in his teacher's hands. 

"Alright, the boss will be with you in a moment." She smiled politely at the three and bowed before leaving the room. Chan was shaking his leg, Changbin zoning out staring at the large bookshelf, and it was making Jisung's anxiety spike. His leg wasn't shaking, but his hands were brushing invisible knots out of his hair, twirling the strands to combat his nausea. 

The door opened, and Chan was quick to hop from his seat, bowing a full ninety degrees. Jisung and Changbin followed, albeit more slowly. The CEO, an older male with a large nose and fading hair, laughed at their eagerness and motioned for them to sit. 

"Bang Chan, Han Jisung, and Seo Changbin? I've heard good stories about you." He smiled at them, but they were too nervous to respond. "We're not here to talk about that though, are we? So, you guys want to become idols. From listening to the demos you sent, I've decided to give you a chance. Prove to me that you can handle the responsibilities of being an idol. If you can't bring in a decent fanbase with your first album, the contract will be void. Do you understand?" 

Chan found his voice first, although it was shaky. "Yes sir, we understand." 

"Very well, then. There is one problem we need to address before I allow you three to represent my company. It says here that two of you are in a relationship?" 

Jisung and Chan hesitantly raised their hands. 

"Oh, I thought it was you and-"

Changbin shook his head. 

"I see, I apologize. Unfortunately, our company does not allow for new idol groups to publicly date." 

Jisung opened his mouth to protest, but the CEO stopped him with a raised hand. 

"You three, 3racha, are not an idol group and will be treated differently. Our solo artists and rap groups do not have a dating ban, but we will have to review your partner before allowing you to go public. Any of your actions will affect JYP, including who you date, and we need to ensure the security of our company's reputation." The man explained, wiggling his computer mouse to bring the screen to life. Jisung and Chan shared a worried look behind Changbin's head. "May I know the name of your girlfriends?" 

"Lee Minho," Jisung declared, eyes locked with JYP's. The CEO nodded in acknowledgment and looked away first, typing something into his keyboard. He turned the screen for Jisung to confirm Minho's identity, and Jisung gaped at the copious amount of articles headlined with his boyfriend's face. "That's him." 

JYP clicked on the first link, titled 'Local Teenager Receives Full Ride Scholarship to Seoul National University', and skimmed it. "A dancer?" Jisung nodded. "He's very impressive," the man commented, reading over a list of Minho's dance achievements. Jisung hadn't seen any trophies or metals in Minho's care and made a note to ask his boyfriend about it later. "Has he ever considered becoming an idol?" 

"I'm not sure," Jisung stuttered. God, he hoped that's all that was on the internet. He was by no means ashamed of his boyfriend's job, a dancer was a dancer after all, but he knew the stigma surrounding sex workers. Even if Minho refused the sex part since he started dating Jisung, he was still in the field.

"Interesting. And you?" He quirked an eyebrow towards Chan, who told him Felix's name. Jisung didn't know if Felix went to college, or even competed. Minho never mentioned Felix's life before the club, and Jisung hadn't bothered asking. He regretted it now. 

"Cherry's Princess?" The CEO mumbled, scrolling over a video dated one month ago of Felix dancing on stage. "Is he also a dancer?" He addressed Chan, clicking the video. Before Chan could respond, the video loaded, and Felix waltzed onto the stage, platform heels tapping against the runaway. He saw the realization in the way JYP's pleased smile twisted into a revolted frown. The man skipped through the video like someone would pop out and say sike, but it never happened. It only got worse as Minho joined Felix on the other side of the stage, perky ass on display. Jisung almost reached over and stopped the video himself, but JYP beat him to it. "I understand now." He turned off the computer with a disappointed sigh and crossed his arms. "If you wish to sign with our company, your relationships must remain a secret. We cannot condone that profession, and neither can our artists." 

"That's fine!" Chan blurted. Jisung stared at him incredulously. Did he not care for Felix's feelings at all? "We can do that. Right, Jisung?" 

Jisung hesitated. "I don't know." 

"Jisung," Chan hissed, kicking his legs. 

"I..." He glanced at his members, both begging him with their eyes to just fucking say yes! And he caved. "I can keep it a secret." 

"Wonderful!" The CEO cheered. "If you could sign these copies of the contract for me, please." He slid three pieces of paper in front of them. Changbin signed first, a messy scribble that was not legible in the slightest. Their leader momentarily paused but joined his friend. Jisung took the longest, weighing his options. He would have sat there for hours, but Chan kicked him again, harsher, more desperate. 

And with that, he signed his love away for a chance in the spotlight. 


	13. thirteen

Minho tossed his heels on the floor and slammed his locker door shut. Dancing was his passion, it kept his heart pumping, but being in the club, so close to the velvet rooms, triggered his fight or flight. Thankfully, he managed through his short setlist and was able to escape to the locker rooms before he had a panic attack in front of all the patrons. Felix wasn't far behind him, stomping into the room and curling into a ball under the makeup counters. During the show, Changbin had to escort a few touchy men from the front row. Minho didn't see much of it, too caught up in his own trauma, but he heard the way Changbin called Felix his boyfriend, and he could imagine how his precious Lixie was feeling. 

“Lix,” Minho sighed, crawling under the counter to rest his head on Felix’s shaking shoulder. “You know he didn’t mean it. I heard from Jisung they all made up. That’s good, right?” 

Felix shook his head. “I broke him. It’s all my fault.” 

“Oh, Lixie. I think cheating was a bit much, but the breakup was bound to happen. You guys weren’t happy, and that’s no one's fault.” 

Minho was horrified when he first learned of Felix and Chan, having experienced the pains of being cheated on himself. That’s not to say he supported Changbin and Felix, quite the opposite. He knew the ins and outs of their relationship, all the toxic, all the mental strain, but there were ways to go about ending relationships, and Felix fucked up with Chan.

“You wanna hear some real bullshit? Jisung hasn’t had a decent conversation with me in almost four days, that’s bullshit. He won’t even let me go to the store with him, like what the fuck did Walmart do?” Minho scoffed and picked at the grout in the tiles. Felix suddenly shifted by his side, and he yelped as he came in contact with the icy floor. 

“Chan’s been doing the same thing!” 

Minho sat up, nearly slamming his head against the countertop. “Who do they think they are? Ignoring the prettiest people in Seoul.” He pulled himself from the floor, feet still aching from his performance, and held his hand out for Felix. The freckled boy grabbed on, and they stood, side by side, looking totally wrecked in the wall mirrors. Minho’s perfectly styled hair was turning frizzy, his eyeliner smudged, and glitter was stuck in places glitter should not be. Felix was better off, with less smeared makeup and more clothing issues. 

“What do you say we ditch those fools tonight?” Minho smirked at Felix in the mirror. Felix copied his mischievous grin and slammed his book bag on the table. They cleaned up quickly, used to rapid show changes, and put on decently high shoes. Minho loved the fresh feeling of no makeup and the comforting warmth of modest clothes. The clothes he wore when dancing made him feel powerful, above the greedy men and lustful eyes, but even goddesses get tired. When that happened, Minho found himself bundled in Jisung’s hoodie and his favorite skinny jeans, like now. 

They exited the club with their bags thrown over their shoulders, waving goodbye to Changbin on the way out. Felix almost stopped, Minho knew, so he pulled his friend by the strings of his joggers until they arrived at the parking lot. 

“Alright, where are we going?” 

Felix gawked and punched his shoulder. “How are you gonna suggest a night out and not even know where we’re going?” 

“I’m Lee Minho, I do what I want.” Minho winced, rubbing the spot Felix hit. The teenager cursed and dragged Minho across the intersection after checking for cars. “So, where are we going?” Minho piped up and ducked to avoid Felix’s fist. 

“Just hush until we get there.” 

Minho mimed zipping his lips and tossing the key in the gutter. Felix almost smiled, almost, but Minho's overwhelming stupidity came crashing back to him, and he huffed. 

“Oh, a diner! This is fun. Are we gonna be a 1980s forbidden rollerskating couple?” Minho batted his eyelashes, teasing. Felix shoved his face away and asked the exhausted waitress for a table for two. The young girl led them to a booth in the back, and "hell yeah, she actually has on roller skates"! The waitress placed two flimsy paper menus in front of them and took their drink orders. Felix pitched a mini fit when Minho ordered a coffee with as much sugar as she could find, saying it was nearing midnight.

“Really, Lix, you should know me better than that. Coffee has no effect on me anymore.” 

Felix gagged and flicked through his menu. “You’re the only person I know that drinks coffee for the taste. That shits nasty, Min.” He shuddered just thinking about it. 

“You’re nasty.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I dare you.” 

Felix scowled and kicked Minho’s shin, biting into his burger. Minho was picking at his own sandwich, eyes thoughtful. Felix didn’t trust a word that was about to come out of his mouth, and sure enough-

“Can we go get completely slammed at a karaoke bar after this? Pretty please?” 

“Are you kidding me?” Felix deadpanned. 

“I haven’t been anywhere besides work and Jisung’s house in four days, Lix, four entire days! If I don’t get completely wasted by the time I go back to my own personal prison, I might just end it all.” Minho flopped against the booth and angrily shoved a sweet potato fry in his mouth. Felix considered for a moment. Getting drunk and forgetting about his aloof boyfriend and heartbroken ex may do him some good, not to mention, Minho would be using Jisung's black credit card.

“Fine, we’ll go.” 

Minho cheered. “I knew I brought you for a reason, my little Lixie,” he cooed, reaching over their food to pat Felix like a cat. The younger slapped his hand away with a sarcastic meow that sent Minho into a fit of amused giggles. They left the diner with full bellies and twenty dollars poorer, not that Jisung would notice. The closest karaoke joint was a five-minute walk at most, and they made the trek silently. 

“Hello! Can we get a karaoke room?” Minho asked the receptionist, and she smiled, flustered.

“Of course, sir. Would you like an alcohol free room?” She clicked something on her computer and reached under the desk, producing a silver room key. Minho snorted at her question. 

“No, thanks. I’m looking to breathe soju tonight.” 

She laughed and handed Minho the key in exchange for Jisung’s credit card. “Alright, Mr. Han, you’ll be in room three. Have fun!” Minho didn’t correct her. 

He unlocked the karaoke door and tossed the key onto the table, grabbing a soju bottle and popping the tab. He took a large swig and passed the green bottle to Felix. 

“Am I the designated driver for tonight?” Felix questioned, grabbing a microphone from the stand. 

Minho chuckled. “Absolutely not. I’m not getting drunk without my best friend.” He snatched the bottle back and downed half of it in one painful gulp. “Drink up, bestie.” Felix rolled his eyes but took a drink anyway. “Oh! Let's do a duet.” Minho chose Troublemaker, of course, but Felix was left wondering when the hell he grabbed the remote. 

“Yah, Lee Minho! Let me be the girl,” Felix huffed as Minho started the song without him. 

“Sing, Lixie!” 

Three soju bottles and a beer can later, Minho was splayed across the floor, bawling his eyes out. “He doesn’t love me anymore,” the dancer sobbed, cringing at the tears rolling into his ears. “Should I ask him, Pixie? I should ask him.” Minho stumbled to the couch, and grabbed his phone, typing in his passcode (Dori’s birthday). 

Felix wasn’t a psychic or anything of the sort, but he couldn’t ignore the anxious twist in his gut. He hadn’t drunk enough to want to puke his liver out, which meant it was something else. “Min, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sungie,” Minho sniffled into the phone. “Do you still love-”

“Where’s Felix?” Jisung panted through the speaker. He sounded frantic, and Felix’s anxiety heightened. Minho didn’t share their ill feelings, crying like a baby on the sofa of a karaoke bar while his favorite people in the world became more paranoid. “You’re drunk, aren’t you? Jesus Christ, Minho, you know you can't drink.” Jisung cursed, and Felix heard shuffling in the background. “Give the phone to Felix.” 

“No! Fuck you, Jisung, you don’t love me.” 

“Minho.” Minho hung up. 

The blank expression on his face terrified Felix, and he carefully reached over to confiscate Minho’s bottle. His phone rang, another call from Jisung, but he rejected it. 

“Can we go home? My home?” 

Felix nodded. “Anything you want, Min.” Minho gathered his few belongings, and they left the room, passing the key to the receptionist on the way out. Once outside, his phone rang again. “Maybe we should answer. It could be important.” Felix suggested. 

Minho put his phone on silent without a second thought and shoved the device in his hoodie pocket. “I’m too drunk to deal with him.” Felix knew Minho was sobering up, whether it be from the chilly night air or Jisung, he didn’t know. He was just glad he wouldn’t have to drag Minho back to his apartment. 

“Minho, come on.”

“Shut up.” 

“Give him a chance.”

“No, really, shut up,” Minho hissed, dragging Felix under a storefront awning. “Listen.” Felix closed his eyes and blocked out Minho’s warm breath tickling his neck. Oh shit, footsteps. 

“Are we being followed?” He whispered, huddling closer to a very sober Minho. 

“I don’t know, Lix.” 

A sudden flash of bright light had them both flinching, spots swimming in their vision. Voices, stacked upon each other, bombarded them, and the obnoxious lights continued. Felix ducked behind Minho as the seven or eight bodies got closer, forming a claustrophobic circle around the pair. 

“Excuse me! Are you Lee Felix?” A woman yelled, approaching Minho with a large microphone and an even bigger camera. Minho blinked, too shocked to answer, and the woman continued. “Is it true that you’re dating Bang Chan?” 

Minho snapped back to reality and shook his head. “What? No.”

“I am,” Felix chimed in, still partially hidden behind Minho. “Is something wrong?” 

“Guys!” The woman yelled, waving towards the road. “We found him!” A dozen other reporters flooded the two, waving microphones in their faces and asking questions about Chan.

“What is he like in bed?” 

“How long have you been together?”

“Is it true that you’re a stripper?” 

“Is he paying you?” 

Felix was panicking, Minho noticed, but the reporters kept getting closer. He grabbed the microphone closest to him, coincidentally belonging to the first woman and spoke. 

“How fucking dare you,” he growled. “You have no right to bombard us and then ask such insulting questions.” The reporters were eating his words like they were a delicacy, notepads and recorders onhand. “They are together because they love each other, and that’s all you fuckers need to know,” Minho spat. 

“And who are you?” The woman asked. 

Minho scoffed and grabbed Felix’s hand, ready to run for it. “Since we’re being technical, I’m Cherry’s fucking Kitten. Come in for a show one day, sweetheart.” And then they ran like hell. 

Felix was heaving next to Minho, tears spilling from his eyes, and Minho was planning a massacre. God, Felix was right. He should have answered the phone. Minho threw open the lobby doors and flopped against the elevator wall, sighing deeply. Sweat dripped down the arch of his spine and into his jeans, but that didn’t stop him from pulling Felix’s shaking body into his. 

“I’m calling Chan. Is that okay, Lixie?” The elevator, thank god, made it to Minho’s floor and they stepped into the hallway. Minho unlocked his door and ushered Felix inside, shutting his curtains. “Go get some water, bub.” Felix nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Minho dialed Chan’s number, and it went to voicemail, but he was too furious to care about what the Australian could possibly be doing at three in the morning. Minho dialed two more times before the stupid man answered. 

“What is it? I’m kind of busy here.” Chan sounded out of breath, too, but Minho figured it wasn't from whatever Jisung was doing. 

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna make yourself unbusy.” 

Chan sighed. “Is it that important, Min?” Minho hummed. “Fine, give me a sec. Wooyoung, can we take five? Family emergency.”

Wooyoung laughed. “Sure thing, Channie.” A door shut, and Chan spoke into the receiver again. 

“What’s up, Minho?” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you. I’m sure you’ll see it on the news anyway. Bang Chan’s Stripper Boyfriend Curses at Reporters, or something like that.” Minho picked at the leftover nail polish on his nails, blue specks falling to the carpeted floor. 

“What? How the fuck did they find out about Felix?” Chan snarled. 

“Find out? You guys hid us, didn’t you? That’s why Jisung wouldn’t go out in public with me. That’s why some nasty reporters made your boyfriend have a fucking panic attack on the sidewalk, huh? Well, you know what, fuck you and fuck Jisung. I hope you both enjoy your fame.” Minho hung up and threw his phone on the couch. Felix shifted in the doorway, eyes teary again. 

“Did they really do that?” He mumbled between hiccups. Minho nodded and pulled Felix to sit on the couch. He tucked a blanket around Felix’s shoulders and brushed through his fading hair soothingly. 

“We don’t need boys, Lixie. We have each other, right?” 

Felix nodded and leaned into Minho’s gentle touch. Despite the pain in his heart, he could feel his eyes shutting. When Minho started humming, he was a goner, falling asleep on the couch. Minho laid him down on the armrest after slipping a pillow behind his head. 

He sat on the floor by Felix's feet and scrolled through the messages Jisung sent him. Minho gave up after the fifteenth 'i’m so sorry’, and succumbed to his emotions. With tears in his eyes and dripping onto his phone screen, he texted Chan.

‘You never deserved him.'

And when the message was sent, he opened his chat with Jisung. He didn’t know how to articulate the overwhelming swirl of emotions in his head, and his fingers hovered over the keyboard hesitantly. But with a boost of confidence and finality, he typed. 

‘I know my worth, and it took me a long fucking time to learn it. I’m worth more than a record deal, and if you can’t see that, you’re nothing to me, Han Jisung.’


	14. fourteen

The shutter clicked. 

Minho slammed the garage door behind him, wincing at the sound. Jisung wanted him to come over and reconcile, but where the fuck was he? Probably at the studio, but that didn't matter because Minho wanted a sandwich, and Jisung's fridge was barren. A few days apart and Jisung already succumbed to the temptations of instant ramen and takeout. He stepped onto the street and sighed at the overwhelming heat seeping into his bones. It was going to be a long walk to the convenience store. 

She got into her car and checked the photo. Crystal clear, as she had expected. The editors would finally notice her. The men would stop talking, grabbing-

Minho placed his triangular sandwich on the counter, sipping at his strawberry milk. The cashier rang him up with a chirpy greeting not commonly found in the store employees. Working night after night took a toll on anyone, Minho knew firsthand, and he had immense respect for public service workers. Minho swiped Jisung's credit card and left the store with a polite bow. He nearly dropped his precious food when a car zoomed past him, and he silently cursed the eager driver. 

She reached the building in five minutes at the latest, going 50 in the 35's. She printed the picture at her dusty printer that was running low on yellow ink and slammed the photo on the editor's desk. He grinned, and the guilt she felt disappeared. 

"Perfect."

"Perfect," Minho moaned, chewing on his sandwich in Jisung's living room while Say Yes to the Dress played in the background. His phone was vibrating against the kitchen counter, but he ignored it. He was practically drowning in couch pillows and throw covers, and there was no way he would leave the comfort of the-

"Fucking fine!" He yelled, throwing his blanket to the ground. Jisung was calling him, and he answered it with an annoyed huff. "What?"

"Minho! Thank God. Are you alright?" 

"Um, yes? Should I not be?" Minho wiped the mayonnaise residue off his fingers and onto his shirt. 

"I'll be home in five minutes, okay? Don't leave." Jisung's car beeped, and the door slammed shut. 

"Wasn't planning on it." The car engine revved to life, and Minho hung up, more annoyed than when the call started. His show was interrupted for nothing. He plugged his phone into Jisung's charger and flopped back onto the couch. 

The garage door opened two minutes after Minho sat down, and Jisung burst through, pupils shaking. He discarded his laptop and rushed to Minho's side. Minho looked fine, albeit confused as hell, and Jisung realized with a frown that he somehow hadn't seen it. 

"Minho, I'm so sorry." Jisung apologized, lips quivering. 

Minho furrowed his brows and leaned further into the couch. "It was only five minutes, Hannie, you're fine." 

Jisung shook his head and unlocked his phone. "Not for that, for this." He handed Minho his phone, and the dancer took it gently. 

Han Jisung's Boyfriend? See the shocking images below. 

JYP's new rap group, 3racha, has been the topic of multiple scandals since the release of their teaser trailer three days ago. The latest scandal comes from a video circulating the internet of Chan's boyfriend, Lee Felix, and Jisung's alleged boyfriend, Lee Minho, swearing at reporters. The duo was walking down Central Avenue when our reporters spotted them. See the video of the incident below. 

The stripper, 23, was pictured leaving Jisung's house early this morning. Rumors of the two's relationship spread across the internet, and people are stepping forward with pictures. The anonymous tippers claim to be clients of Lee Minho, who works under the name 'Kitten' at Cherry's Club. See the revealing images below. 

Minho's heart stopped. 

Two fingers, three fingers, four, Minho was a mess. Tears, snot, and drool created a puddle on the pillow beneath his face, and he could feel blood dripping from his-

"No, no, that's not me. They wouldn't. They can't," Minho sobbed into the back of his hand and dropped Jisung's phone. His stomach was swirling, his senses blurred. He rushed to the bathroom and fell to his knees in front of the toilet, throwing up his sandwich. The horrible vomiting continued until he was spitting out nothing but bile.

Jisung rubbed the arch of his spine and held his bangs back, spewing apologizes. "I didn't know, Minho. I'm so sorry." 

Minho slumped against the tub, and Jisung wiped the vomit from his lips with toilet paper before sitting next to him. Minho curled into Jisung's embrace, cries morphed into a profound numbness. "Why did he take a picture? Am I worth nothing more than a news article to these men?" 

Jisung's phone rang from the living room, but he didn't move. It was probably Chan, calling to tell him that heartless bastards sent pictures of his boyfriend's body to a news station. He should've killed Bomin, let him bleed out on the club floor and stain the tiles. 

Minho shifted in his arms, resting his chin on Jisung's chest. "Am I worth more than a record deal to you?" 

Jisung swallowed uncomfortably. "Did you finish reading the article?" He couldn't meet Minho's eyes, distracting himself by toying with the tub mat next to him. Minho sat up, and Jisung didn't need to look to see the betrayal in his beautiful eyes. 

"What did you say, Jisung?" 

Jisung didn't answer.

"Tell me!" Minho screamed, harshly tugging on Jisung's shirt. The rapper didn't budge, and Minho took the initiative to leave the bathroom and grab Jisung's phone from the floor. He scrolled to where he left off, almost losing it when he passed the awful pictures. 

Jisung commented on the rumors this morning via an Instagram post. The post was a picture of him and Minho eating food together at what is assumed to be Jisung's house. 

Minho smiled involuntarily, gaining some relief after the pain he endured. Finally, they could go back to how they were, before JYP, before Bomin. Minho and Jisung, two men so deeply in love with each other that Minho's job and Jisung's wealth didn't matter. 

The caption read:

"People are quick to make assumptions about my private life, even when they don't know me. I have tried to keep my personal life private from the prying eyes of the media, but the situation has forced me to speak up. Never will I condone the exposure or belittling of a sex worker or their associates, boyfriend or not. This type of behavior from people who claim to be my fans is not acceptable, and you are not welcome here. 

Secondly, I am gay, and I have never hidden it. And I will never do so. 

Finally, Minho is not my boyfriend. He is a friend who needed a temporary place to stay while his apartment gets renovated. We are friends, and any hate towards him or Felix is not tolerated."

JYP has yet to respond. 

"I'm your friend, huh?" Minho scoffed, sliding his Vans onto his feet. "Guess I should get going. I heard my apartment renovations are done." 

Jisung grasped his shoulder, and Minho shrugged him off, stomping to the kitchen. 

"Minho, they'd harass you if they knew. I was only trying to protect you," Jisung pleaded, blocking Minho's path to his phone. 

"Protecting me? I'm already getting harassed, Jisung, figured it would be easier to fight with you on my side." Minho shoved past him and grabbed his phone from the charger. "Admit it, you're protecting yourself. I get it, really. Who would want a sex worker as a boyfriend? All we do is fuck other men and steal money like the whores we are."

Jisung's pleading expression fell. "Minho, that's not true, and you know it." 

Minho froze in the doorway and cocked his head. "I'm not a dreamer, Sung. The world has been too fucking real with me to have such a sentiment, but I dreamed when I was with you. We had a gorgeous wedding with Felix and Chan as our best men, kissed at the altar, and went on a honeymoon to New York. We loved the city so much we stayed. I went to Julliard, and you got a job as a hotshot producer in Manhattan. But that was all a dream, a wish. What I was sure of is that you loved me, and I loved you, and now I don't even know if that's true." Minho wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. "So, no, Jisung. I don't know what's true or not."

"I do love you. I love you with my everything." 

"Yeah, well, I thought I was your everything." 

Minho closed the door and ran for the sidewalk. He didn't want to see Jisung fall apart, not again. One more tear and Minho would be running back into Jisung's arms, drawn to the rapper like a moth to light. 

They were Icarus and the Sun. Minho was reckless around Jisung, ignoring Felix's warnings and his hesitance in favor of reaching the untouchable. His wings melted with every second spent in the presence of the Sun, but the scalding wax dripping across his shoulder blades paled in the light of Jisung. The article stripped his Sun away. His wings were nothing but a puddle of tears on Jisung's bathroom floor, and he's falling. When he lands, Felix will hold him in the raging waves of the sea and rebuild his wings with the lightest metal. 

Lee Minho will fly again, but it won't be alongside Jisung. 


	15. fifteen

CEO Park sat in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His thin lips stretched into a disappointed frown, and Jisung shrunk into the chair cushions. Chan shuffled next to him, avoiding Jinyoung's eyes by toeing at the carpet. They both knew what the emergency meeting was about, but neither dared to speak first. Jisung had left his house with a weary smile from Changbin and a glare from Felix. He wasn't sure why the duo decided to have the long-overdue discussion about their failed relationship at his house, but the morning company calmed his nerves. 

"Jisung, I appreciate that you spoke up on Instagram," Jinyoung began passively. "Your statement took some of the heat off of Minho's situation, which is great for him, but did nothing for you. Videos of your gigs at the club are surfacing, and the rumors are getting more frequent." 

Jisung nodded, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He saw the videos circulating on Twitter and read the shipping comments. It made him wonder if the fans would care if they exposed their relationship- whatever was left of it, at least. 

"Our best course of action to preserve your reputation is to stage a relationship with a fellow artist in the company."

Jisung didn't like that, not one bit. Jinyoung sensed his hesitation and leaned his elbows onto the desk. 

"If you don't do this, we will have to drop 3racha from our label. I called in a favor from Choi San, another openly bisexual actor at the company. He agreed to date you until the rumors die. 3racha has done exceptionally well with the preorders on your physical album, and dating a member would tremendously boost his popularity. Do you have your phone?"

Jisung lifted his hips to wiggle his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and set it on the desk. Jinyoung opened his contacts list and typed a number, saving the name as San. 

"I expect to see a public appearance in the headlines by next week if you wish to keep your job. Now, Chan." Chan's posture straightened, and Jisung eyed the new contact in his phone skeptically. "Thankfully, all of Felix's claims have no evidence. I would like you to make a public statement denying the allegations, say what you need to. Our PR manager will call you later this evening to formalize a statement." Jinyoung leaned back in his seat and sighed. "You are celebrities now, boys. This reckless behavior is intolerable. That was your warning, now get out of here."

Chan abruptly stood, chair tipping onto the carpet, and fell into a perfect 90-degree bow. Jisung gave the CEO a curt nod and left Chan to fix his chair, anxiously tapping his leg on the hallway floor. San's number stared at him like a persistent demon on his shoulder. Minho didn't care about him anymore. He hated Jisung. He hated him like he hated his druggie parents, maybe more. There was no relationship for Jisung to try and salvage anymore, and he made sure of it with his stupid Instagram post. Minho left Jisung's life as quickly as he entered. 

Jisung clicked the phone icon on San's contact and held his phone with twitching fingers. The man picked up on the second ring. 

"Hello?" San greeted curiously. Jisung found his voice pleasant enough, but it wasn't the pretty drawl of Minho's voice. 

"Hi, it's Han Jisung. CEO Park told me to contact you about the... you know, fake dating thing."

San laughed, and Jisung slumped against the wall. "No need to be nervous, Jisung. Should we meet up soon? Are you doing anything for lunch today?" 

No, he wasn't. But the thought of being with someone that wasn't Minho made him want to puke his guts on the floor. "No," Jisung choked out. "I'm free."

"Cool! Meet me at Starbucks across the street at 12. Is that alright?" 

No, it wasn't. Nothing was right. Minho was gone, Jisung's life controlled by a man with a heart of steel, and his best friend was losing his compassion in the name of fame. Pompeii was burning around them, and no one would escape the flames unharmed. 

"That's fine. See you then." Jisung hung up before San responded, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Chan exited the office then, face pale, and phone clutched in his hands. Jisung wanted to scream at him, but he stayed silent until Chan shut his car door. 

"Don't do it, Chan. I'm serious. It's not worth it." 

Chan shook his head. "We worked so hard to get here, Ji. Felix will be around for a while, but a deal like this... That comes once in a lifetime." 

"Why are you throwing away your relationship? How dare you do that to Felix. I fucked up with Minho, okay? I admit it. But you two still have a chance to live in New York City and own as many cats as you want. Don't you want to get married? Don't you want to watch him dance on the biggest stage in the world?" Jisung asked incredulously. 

"No, that's what you want." 

"It is, and I lost it all with a few words and a picture. Don't do that to yourself, Chan." Jisung turned his key in the ignition and shifted into reverse. "Nothing will overcome the pain of trading your universe to be a star." 

Jisung would later learn that Chan hit post in the passenger seat of his car. He would later hear that Felix collapsed into Changbin's arms, that Minho ran to his house in his heels to pull his friend into a hug that provided safety from the claws tearing at his heart. He would call that day the worst in his entire life, and he would be the one to find the blood seeping from beneath his bathroom door. But not yet, no. Jisung wouldn't completely fall apart until 5:27 pm when he opened his bedroom door. 

It was 11:58 when he entered the Starbucks across from the JYP building. San waved at him from his seat by the window, a small table for two that made the meeting more intimate than Jisung intended. He ordered his caramel macchiato and sat down, knocking knees with the actor. He almost flinched at the contact and spun his legs to face the door. 

"San, I need to tell you something." 

The actor nodded and took a sip of his coffee.

"I can't do this with you. It's not fair to my boyfriend, or ex, I guess," Jisung mumbled as an afterthought, but San heard him and rubbed his arm sympathetically. "I love him, and I did a sucky job at showing it. I shouldn't have agreed to meet you here. I'm sorry." 

San brushed his bangs from his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "It's no biggie, Jisung. I have a boyfriend, too. It took a lot of convincing for him to let me do this." San smiled sheepishly, picking at the paper cozy on his drink. 

"I promise I'll give you a shoutout, recommend your drama, anything. It's the least I can do."

"No, the least you can do is sit here and have a good time with me for the next two hours. Got it?"

"But-"

San wagged his pointer finger in Jisung's face. "Uh-huh, no buts. You're stuck with me, might as well make it interesting." 

"Would you kill me if I treated you as my therapist?" Jisung asked, and San was quick to shake his head. 

"No way. I get it, man. Acting life is stressful enough. I can't even imagine the pressure JYP puts on their idols." 

"Our album is doing great in sales, but at what cost, you know? Minho, my boyfriend, made me so fucking happy, and now he wants nothing to do with me. And Chan, my bandmate, and probably the biggest kissass of us all is doing the same thing I did! It's like, dude, really?" Jisung slammed his hands on the table with an exasperated scoff. "I wanna smack his dimples off his face sometimes. I'm not sure what he's expecting being all buddy-buddy with the CEO. That man doesn't give a fuck who you are. He'll ruin your life with a snap of his fingers."

"God, I know," San groaned, sharing his feelings. "When I told him I was dating Wooyoung, he was furious, like bash-my-head-into-the-wall mad." 

"You're dating the choreographer?" Jisung questioned, recognizing the name from Chan. He and Changbin had a separate dance teacher who learned Wooyoung's choreography and taught it to them. The dancer was notorious in the company for his sexy moves and attractiveness. Jisung thought Minho would fit perfectly alongside the dancers at JYP if the man wasn't as judgemental. 

San hummed. "It'll be a year in a few weeks." 

The conversation shifted from annoying bosses to hot boyfriends, and Jisung was having a good time. San was easy to talk to, and he never let the silence be awkward, either humming to the song playing over the speakers or making weird noises. Jisung could see them as very close friends in the future, but he knew CEO Park didn't want to hear that. 

Fuck him, Jisung thought when they parted ways. He would do what he wanted with his life, record deal, or not. He could love Minho and produce music just as well, maybe even better when he returned to his muse. 

He unlocked the door and threw his empty Starbucks cup in the trashcan by the fridge. Changbin and Felix were nowhere in sight, and Jisung assumed they left, preparing instant ramen for one. He watched the timer on the microwave, 3, 2, 1, and rushed to open it before it could beep. The paper cup was scalding when he tossed it onto the counter, hissing at the burn. 

Minho loved to nag him about his eating habits, especially his unhealthy addiction to ramen and microwaved burritos. Before he met the dancer, his evenings consisted of lazy track producing and a cup of ramen balanced on his knee. He was an expert at balancing his food in odd positions, and he had a stainless couch to prove it. Minho's routine was a bit more refined. He preferred the safety of a kitchen table and had to eat at the same time as his Dori. Jisung found it cute. 

Unfortunately for Jisung's stomach, Minho wasn't there, and the ramen disappeared in minutes. He threw away his garbage and situated himself on the couch, headphones around his neck, and laptop on his crossed legs. He opened his producing software and scanned his livingroom, wincing at the chip wrappers and scattered shoes. Vans, Converse, large shimmery heels - wait, what? Jisung placed his laptop on the table and inspected the heels lying near his TV. They were a size 7, but Minho was a size 8. Which meant-

"Felix?" Jisung called. "Are you still here, Lixie?" When he received no response, Jisung unlocked his phone and dialed Felix's number. Losing You played from somewhere in the house, and Jisung followed the depressing ringtone, pausing at his door. The ringing stopped, and he redialed Felix's number, eyes glancing over the clock in the corner of his phone. 5:27, he opened his bedroom door. The ringing was coming from the bathroom, bouncing off the walls in a shrill cacophony of Wonho's voice and instruments. 

"Lix? Why are you in here?" Jisung reached for the door handle and froze. His shoe was ankle-deep in pink water, and it was coming from the bathtub. He threw open the bathroom door with an annoyed curse, fighting against the water pressure. "Jesus, Felix, water is getting-"

His phone plunked into the river, and Jisung screamed. He stumbled to the bathtub, grabbing Felix's t-shirt and hauling him from the bloody water. He was limp in Jisung's arms, eyes fluttering and breathing labored. Two long rivulets of blood dripped from the gashes in Felix's forearms, and Jisung's mind blanked. He scrambled for his phone, dialing 911 with trembling hands. 

"I need an ambulance, please! My friend tried to kill himself." Saying it aloud made Jisung shake more, and his phone almost tumbled to the ground. He gave the operator his address and placed his phone on the countertop. The water was seeping into his boxers, soaking his socks, and he held Felix closer to his chest, whispering assurances into his hair. A medic burst through the door minutes later, pulling a stretcher into the bathroom. They had to pry Felix from Jisung's arms, soothing his screams with empty promises. 

They lifted Felix into the ambulance, and Jisung hopped in after him. His phone was sopping wet in his pocket, but usable, and he sent a brief message to the 3racha group chat. 

Felix hurt himself badly. We're going to the hospital now.

Messages poured in from both men, asking what the fuck happened and if he would be okay. Jisung didn't have an answer for either. He dialed Minho's number next, the most dreaded conversation of them all, and it went to voicemail. 

Answer me. It's about Felix.

Jisung's phone rang, and he answered. "Minho, I'm so sorry. I didn't know," he sobbed, banging his fist against the metal walls of the ambulance. The sirens wailed in the background, a dizzying melody that was familiar to Minho. 

"Are you in an ambulance? Jisung, what happened? Where's Felix?" 

"He's on a stretcher next to me. It's bad, Minho, it's so fucking bad." 

"What happened, Sung?" Minho sounded frantic, shuffling on the other line and slamming doors. 

Jisung didn't know what to say. How did he tell Minho his best friend was shattered, pieces of himself littering Jisung's floor. How did he tell Minho that no matter how hard he tried, Felix was never happy? How did he say Felix was so numb he turned on Jisung's bathtub and painted the walls red just to feel? He couldn't.

"Just come to the hospital, Minho, please. I'll leave as soon as you get there, I promise, but he needs you." 

"I'll be there."

The paramedics rushed Felix to the ICU, and Jisung sat in the lobby. It was 5:55 pm when Felix disappeared into the operating room. 6:04 when Chan banged against the doors screaming Felix's name like a broken record. And 6:13 when Minho pulled Jisung into a hug that made him breathless. 

"Don't leave me." 

"I'll never leave you, not again."


	16. sixteen

Changbin wanted to plunge a needle through Chan's carotid artery. He wanted to watch him bleed out on the hospital floor while the nurses watched because they knew he deserved it. Chan should have known better, Changbin thought as he glared at the man sitting pitifully by Felix's bed. He knew Felix's fragility, Changbin told him everything. Chan almost killed Felix, and Changbin would never forget. Felix held the knife, but Chan dug the blade into his skin with each word he wrote. 

"I was wrong," Changbin spoke up from the couch shoved in the corner. Chan briefly let go of Felix's limp hand to send Changbin a confused frown. "You're not trustworthy. You did what I feared, and I'll never forgive you for that."

Chan scoffed. "What did I do this time, Dad? Seeing as I'm the disappointment in this family." 

"You're fucking with me, right?" Changbin deadpanned. "You nearly killed my boyfriend!"

"He's not your boyfriend!" Chan seethed, dropping Felix's hand to approach Changbin. 

He didn't flinch, hardly even blinked. Chan was too soft to deliver the punch he wanted to, no matter how much rage flowed through his bones and made his fingers twitch. Changbin returned his stare with an indignant huff. 

"He's neither of ours anymore. You don't deserve him, and I let him go. If you love him, Chan, you'll let him heal without us, without anymore heartache. He deserves that much from you." 

The anger spilled from Chan's rigid spine like a shower, and he sagged into his hoodie. He looked small, even though he had at least three inches on Changbin. He sank into the couch beside Changbin, eyes trained at the ceiling and hands lying on his spread thighs.

"You're right," he admitted quietly, as if the truth would burn his last shrivel of dignity. "I shouldn't have said that. Jisung warned me. He said this would happen, and I-" Chan buried his head in his hands. "I ignored him. And now Felix is in the hospital, and Jisung is traumatized." 

"That's alright, Channie." Jisung leaned against the wall with a teasing smile, but his eyes were tired. Minho stood behind him, one hand scratching Jisung's back under his heavy sweatshirt. The dancer's attention never wavered from the curve of Jisung's spine, unknowingly avoiding the final piece of evidence. Jisung could have lied. The blood may have been his; he was the clumsiest in the friend group after all. Felix could be at work, with his phone hidden deep in his book bag so no one would steal it. If he looked, he couldn't deny it. So Minho didn't look. He followed the comforting movement of his fingertips and hid his face in Jisung's back. 

"Jisung, I'm so sorry." 

Jisung waved away Chan's apology and reached around to pull Minho's hips flush against his own. It was a strange backward hug, but Minho relaxed nonetheless, sighing softly. 

"You should save your apologies for the people who need them." Jisung subtly gestured to the kitten latched onto his back, and Chan nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't try harder to stop you. It could have saved us a lot of trouble."

Chan furrowed his brows. "It's not your fault, Sung, no matter how we twist it." 

Jisung chuckled, empty. "I know it's not. It's yours. You've been reckless since you signed your life away to JYP, and it's fucked everyone up. Chan, I love music. I can sincerely stand here and say that it's saved me. But it's breaking me apart to see the music I love destroying my life. I won't choose between music and Minho, and JYP is forcing me too. I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore." 

Chan stood on shaking legs, and Changbin stared incredulously. 

"What are you saying, Ji?" 

"I'm leaving 3racha because it's what's best for me and my relationship." 

Chan spluttered, hands gripping Jisung's shoulder. "You can't leave! We'll find a different company, I promise. We can do the songs you wanted, like the one for Minho. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He begged, and Jisung felt guilty. But one gentle nudge from Minho, and he gently pried Chan's hands from his shoulders, wincing at the soreness from his fingers. 

"I want to do what I want with my life, Channie. I want to do it without worrying about other people, at least in my work life. We're still friends. I could never replace you two, not with anyone, but I can't continue on this music journey with you guys. It's time for me to find my melody and grow up." 

Chan gaped, and before he could utter another syllable, Felix groaned. Three bodies bombarded him at once, climbing over each other to get a glimpse of their friend, alive and breathing. Jisung stayed leaning against the wall, fighting the tears dripping down his cheeks. He shoved his tongue against his cheek to no avail. His friends shot question after question at Felix, who was very disgruntled and confused, while Jisung silently prayed in the doorway. 

He wasn't religious, quite the opposite, devoting his life to music as an atheist. But he prayed to any God willing to listen to him in that doorway, thanking them, he, she, for letting Felix live. For allowing Jisung to be his guardian angel. 

"Where's Jisung?" Felix croaked, throat dry and scratchy. Jisung perked up and wiped his tears before joining his friends at Felix's bedside. Minho was curled under Felix's arm, clinging to his best friend's side with no intention of letting go. "Thank you for saving me." 

Jisung shook his head and placed a chaste kiss on Felix's forehead. "Thank you for wanting to be saved." Felix smiled and squeezed his hand reassuringly. It hurt his wrist to do so, but the smile that blossomed across Jisung's lips was worth every sting. 

"Felix, I'm sorry for saying that I didn't know you." Chan apologized, shuffling his feet across the tiles. Felix didn't know what to say to his boyfriend. He understood now how Changbin felt when he discovered Chan and Felix's relationship. Betrayal hurt far worse than any rose-colored bathtub. 

Felix inhaled shakily, careful not to jostle Minho. "We should break up, Chan. I don't care if you meant what you said or not, you said it, and you can't take it back now. Regret seeps in after the consequences happen, but someone who loved me wouldn't have posted it in the first place." 

"I understand, Lix." Chan brushed Felix's bangs away from his teary eyes and kissed him gently, one last time. "I hope one day we can be friends." 

"Me too." 

Chan bid the group goodbye and exited the room. No one dared to follow. 

"Seo Changbin, you motherfucker!" Felix cursed, abruptly reaching over to slap Changbin across the face and unintentionally sending Minho flailing. Changbin winced at the contact between his cheek and Felix's palm but otherwise remained silent. "How could you let me date him, huh? You know me better than Minho knows Jisung's slimy dick!"

"It is not slimy!" Minho and Jisung protested in unison.

"Technically, I didn't let you date him. You just did it." 

Felix huffed. "Well, don't let me do it again." 

"We won't," Jisung interjected, pulling Minho from the dirty floor. "He's not ready for a relationship quite yet. And neither are you, Mr. Lee! I see you eyeing Binnie, but you gotta heal, Lixie." 

"Can we have a minute, please?" 

"Felix," Jisung groaned, exasperated. "What did I just say?" Minho tugged softly on his sleeve and led Jisung to the lobby, shutting the door with a wink. 

"Give them some time, Hannie. I think it's time for us to have our own talk, anyway." 

The lobby was nearly empty, the clock ticking its way to 1 a.m. Jisung sat in the uncomfortable wooden chairs that squeaked when he moved, and Minho joined him. 

"Can we be honest with each other? Lay it all bare?" Minho requested, turning to face his torso towards Jisung. The chair squeaked. 

"Yeah, that's-that's fine." Jisung stuttered. "Go ahead." 

Minho leaned his head against the wall and sighed. "I love you, and I want to be with you. But I can't be your little secret. If we're going to make this work, I need you to tell the truth to your fans." 

"I can do that. I can do that right now." Jisung unlocked his phone eagerly and opened the camera app. "Kiss me?" He asked hesitantly, and Minho surged forward to capture Jisung's bottom lip between his own. The shutter clicked, but Minho didn't stop, not until his lungs screamed for air. 

Jisung inspected the picture with a shy smile, and Minho peeked over his shoulder to watch him. Jesus, when did his tongue end up down Jisung's throat anyway? 

Minho grabbed Jisung's phone from his shaky hands. "Can I write the caption?" Jisung hummed. "I can go all out?" Jisung hummed again. 

Minho typed furiously into his phone, and Jisung was too scared to see what his boyfriend was doing. (JYP would call and tell him he didn't appreciate being called "Satan's next of kin with a smaller penis and a bigger ego" later).

"I love you, too, just so you know."

Minho leaned across the armrest to peck Jisung's lips again. "I know."

"That means you'll let me take you to New York next month?" Jisung smiled cheekily and rested his head on Minho's outstretched arm. The dancer nodded absentmindedly, too busy trying to kiss every inch of Jisung's tanned skin. "And we can bring Dori?" 

"Yeah, yeah, Dori, whatever." Minho kissed Jisung's chubby cheek and froze. "New York?" He screeched, hopping from the chair to grab Jisung's face in his hands. "Am I losing my mind?"

"Nah, baby," Jisung chuckled. "I finally found mine."

____________

Hyunjin wasn't finding shit. The flowers in his hands were bordering death, and he lost a few petals on his way up the stairs, which were becoming increasingly repetitive. Felix was on floor three, Jisung had told him. 

Well then where the hell was the brown-haired bitch? Hyunjin leaned against the wall and sighed. Maybe he got the room number wrong? He opened the text message Jisung sent him and almost threw his phone across the hallway. He was on floor one! Of-fucking-course. 

He pocketed his phone with an irritated growl, ready to throw the flowers in Felix's stupid face. Hyunjin wouldn't wake up before nine for the rest of his miserable life. He slipped his phone into the pocket of his jeans and stood from the wall. 

"What are we supposed to do with him?" 

"We gave them three months, Mrs. Kang. It's time." A man replied, voice gruff but comforting.

"I can't pull it, Daniel. He's only nineteen."

Hyunjin was curious. He wouldn't deny it. Who were they talking about? Where was his family? What in the world were they pulling?

Oh. 

"Try his parents one more time, Jihyo. But I doubt they'll answer." 

The phone rang and rang and went to voicemail. The doctor shook his head and checked off something on his clipboard. "That's all the contacts Seungmin gave us. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do now." 

Jihyo nodded, and the doctor rubbed her shoulders soothingly. Hyunjin's heart rate sped up as she reached closer to the plug connecting the sleeping angel to life. He had to do something, anything. C'mon, Hyunjin, thinkthinkthinkthink-

"Wait!" He yelled, bursting into the room. "What are you doing?"   
  
The nurse paused, and the doctor turned to him. "I'm sorry, sir, you can't be in here."

"You almost pulled the plug on him without my consent, and then you try to kick me out? That's not very professional, Dr. Kang," Hyunjin spat, jogging around the bed to hold Seungmin's hand protectively in his. 

The doctor raised his eyebrow and rechecked the list in his hands. "And you are?"

"I'm Hwang Hyunjin, Seungmin's boyfriend."


	17. epilogue

Minho was late. Very late. An-hour-past-the-final-bell late. But he wouldn't trade his morning for all the cats in the world. Jisung had a long night. He spent hours hunched over his computer with his sparkling headphones on and one arm wrist-deep in a chip bag. Almost a year ago, they boarded a plane to New York City with nothing more than two suitcases of clothes and Dori. Jisung met with record label after record label, showcasing his mixtape to no avail. 

Money was never a struggle for them in New York. Jisung was ridiculously wealthy, even more so with his money converted to USD, and they found a lavish condo in the heart of the city. But Jisung was unhappy. Minho knew he was becoming frustrated with the rejections, and it hurt to see his boyfriend losing himself to anger. Jisung missed the simplicity of 3racha in times like those, but one glance at his lover and all the struggles faded. 

He posted his music on every platform that would allow him, and it finally caught on. Korean and American fans flocked to his Instagram and Twitter, gushing about the "hot Korean rapper". Atlantic Records heard his music and offered him a deal, and his career skyrocketed. He joined the ranks of famous Western artists like Cardi B, Bruno Mars, and Ed Sheeran. His most famous song, coincidentally the one he wrote for Minho, propelled him to the Billboard Top 100. Minho attended all the award shows with a smile on his lips and the hottest man in Korea by his side. 

"Dori," Minho called out, emptying the last of their cat food into her pink bowl. The speckled kitten ran from his and Jisung's bedroom when she heard the ringing of food hitting porcelain, and Jisung's sleepy body followed. His hair resembled a disgruntled cockatoo from where Minho grabbed it, and red spots were blooming along the column of his neck. Jisung grabbed his dick and adjusted it in his shorts nonchalantly, and Minho would have scolded him, but he could feel the dried evidence of their morning routine on his lips.

"G' morning, baby," Jisung greeted, resting his head against Minho's back and patting his tummy. Minho cooed and stopped petting Dori to kiss his boyfriend's swollen lips. 

"Good morning, bubba."

"You must be a lumberjack because you are damn good with morning wood," Jisung snickered, and Minho reached around to smack his butt, embarrassed. 

"Han Jisung!" 

Jisung leaned against the counter next to Minho with a sleazy smile. "Lee Minho," he mimicked. Minho rolled his eyes and swung his heavy book bag over his shoulder. College courses came with college textbooks that weighed more than Jisung and him combined. They made his back ache worse than when he pulled a muscle in dance two months prior attempting to show off (why Minho thought he could do a perfect plie without stretching, he didn't know). 

"How are your classes?" Jisung asked, clicking the start button on their Keurig. It churned to life, and a small trickle of jet black liquid dripped into the cat-dad mug below. 

"I auditioned for Julliard to dance, not to learn why the hell some dudes from Ancient Greece decided to start a theatre!" Minho groaned. Professor Bailey would skin him alive if he heard Minho dissing classical dance or it's origins, but in the comfort of his kitchen, Minho felt invincible to his elderly wrath. 

Jisung sipped his bitter coffee with an amused hum and handed Minho a vanilla protein shake from the fridge. "You dance all day, though?" 

Minho pecked Jisung's cheek as a thank you and threw the bottle in his luridly green duffel bag. It was a gift from Jisung's mom in Malaysia, and he didn't dare to tell his boyfriend how god awful the color was. It reminded him of a tree frog tripping on mushrooms, or the color of Dori's puke when she got into their lemon sherbert a few weeks ago. 

"Yeah, yeah. But I hate classical dance! It's beautiful when other people do it, like Sicheng, the foreign exchange student, or Ten." Minho listed them off on his fingers, becoming distracted by his chipping blue nail polish until Jisung held his hand. "But me? I suck at classical. I think I'll leave the seducing men with my foot behind my head to Hyunjin. He's much better at it." 

Jisung shook his head in disapproval. "You seduce me just fine with your feet behind my head." 

"Jisung!" Minho spluttered, punching him in the shoulder. His coffee teetered dangerously near the rim of his mug. "Are you still horny, you little fucker!" 

Jisung chuckled. "You better get to class, sweetheart. Lyrical ends in thirty minutes." Minho's eyes bugged, and he glanced at the time on his phone. With hurried steps, he grabbed his duffel bag and raced to the door, cursing Jisung out until the door slammed shut, and his voice faded. 

He was so in love. 

Dori purred, and Jisung patted her head softly. It took a long time for Dori to like Jisung, always hissing and running whenever he approached her. Four months later and she was happy to curl onto Jisung's lap on the couch and snuggle until Minho demanded time with "my boyfriend, you wench!" The graceful cat hopped onto the floor and trotted towards their bedroom, disappearing behind the door. 

Jisung's phone rang from where he carelessly flung it on the couch earlier, and he answered it with a groggy hello. 

"Sungie!" Felix chirped, voice thick as honey and leaking with exhaustion. It was almost eleven in Korea, which meant Felix just finished his job at a small dance studio in Seoul, teaching intermediate ballet. "Did you do it?" 

"No, I chickened again. Minho's so perfect, Lix! I'm going to fuck up somehow, I know it." 

"Maybe if you tried, you'd fuck instead of fuck up," Felix giggled, and Jisung heard Changbin scolding him in the background. The rapper's career took off shortly after he left JYP, producing hip-hop tracks under the alias of SpearB. Minho used his mixtapes sometimes in hip-hop, and they were a hit with the other students. Jisung wasn't positive of Felix and Changbin's relationship, and neither were they, he believed, but something was reblooming. 

Jisung flopped against the couch cushions, mumbling quiet complaints. Dori's soft feet padded across the hardwood moments after, and the cat jumped into Jisung's lap, kneading at his basketball shorts. 

"Lix, you know him well. What should I do?" Jisung whined into the phone. 

"I'm about to blow your mind, Sungie. Listen close. First, you get the ring from wherever your stupid ass hid it. Second, you get down on one knee, kinda like you're about to suck his dick but without the sucking."

Jisung interrupted him with a startled squeak. "I've only done that once!" 

"Yeah sure, and Changbin didn't try to bang me in my hospital bed." 

"He did what?" 

"Third, you ask him to marry you. Simple as that." 

"Simple as that," Jisung mocked in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Pinkie Pie. "But, what if he says no?" The teasing faded to a hesitant vulnerability. Jisung pulled Dori closer to his chest as if the small kitten could protect him from his doubts. "We've only been together for a year, Lix. Heck, we even broke up once before we reached a year." 

"Can I tell you the truth?" 

Jisung hummed. 

"I'm so fucking jealous of you and Minho. It takes a lot of self-security to admit that your relationship isn't working because of your actions. But you owned it, Sung, and you changed to make Minho happy. Me and Chan, me and Changbin, we didn't have that type of love. We didn't want to be the one to blame for the failed relationship. You and Minho have the sort of love that bends but won't break. You guys can admit your faults, the toxic aspects, without destroying the good you've built. I envy that." 

Jisung chewed his thumbnail thoughtfully. "So, you think he'll say yes?"

Felix sighed agitatedly. "What I'm saying is that soulmates come once in a lifetime, and Minho would be stupid to reject his."

"If it makes you feel any better, I think Chan is a dick that couldn't date anyone. No matter how pretty his face is."

Felix chuckled dryly. "I know his pretty face all too well. It's plastered on every billboard in Korea. "Up-and-coming sensation, Bang Chan, swoons with his love songs!" God, it makes me gag just thinking about it." 

After the sudden disbandment of 3racha, Chan went solo under JYP. He was widely praised in Korea for his heartfelt love songs and kind temperament, always greeting fans with dimpled smiles and midnight hugs. It was all an act, down to the very last flutter of his eyelashes. His fame piggy-backed off the heartache of others, and Jisung would never forgive him.

"Sorry, Lixie. I know it hurts." 

"Yeah, well, can't stay hung up over him forever. I have to go, Sung. Changbin's telling me to hang up."

"Tell him to suck it."

"I refuse!" Changbin yelled over the speaker. The three laughed softly before saying their goodbyes. Jisung pushed Dori to the side, and she mewled unhappily at the interruption in her sleep. Minho's second class ended around 12, and the electric clock on the microwave said 11:47. That meant he had at least thirty minutes until Minho's strict teacher allowed the students to go home. 

Jisung threw a hoodie over his tanktops and slipped a pair of track pants over his legs. His underwear was soiled from the morning's events, and he shrugged, going commando under his sweats. Keys jangled in the door about ten minutes after he settled onto the couch, ring box nestled in his hoodie pocket. Minho walked in and threw his duffel bag to the floor, along with his soaked t-shirt. 

"I'm taking a shower!" He announced and turned the water on. Minho took quick showers, but not fast enough to stop Jisung from siking himself out. 

Maybe he should take Minho somewhere. That would be romantic. Or he could put up some pictures, buy some flowers. Should he have shaved earlier? Did he brush his teeth this morning? Oh god, Minho was going to say no. Jisung wasn't romantic enough. Jisung wasn't handsome enough. Minho wasn't happy-

"What's got you all stressed, bubba?" Minho flung his legs over Jisung's thighs and leaned against the armrest. His fingers gently massaged the worried wrinkles on Jisung's forehead, despite the ache in his own muscles.

"I want to marry you," Jisung blurted out, face a dangerous shade of red. Minho's hand dropped to his side. "I have a ring and everything. It's rose gold because that's your favorite, and it has a pretty diamond in the middle for the prettiest man on the planet. But this isn't enough, is it?" Jisung asked. Minho blinked, startled, and Jisung rushed to stand. "Wait, wait, let me do this the right way." 

He kneeled on the floor, the wood digging uncomfortably into his kneecap, and retrieved the velvet box from his pocket. Minho gaped, eyes wide and teary. He looked ethereal, even under the annoyingly yellow lights of their living room.

"Felix called us something earlier. He said we were soulmates, but I don't think that's true. I think we're fated. Did you know that the day we first played at the club, I planned on telling the guys I was done with music? I hadn't written a good song in months, but then I saw you on that stage, and you were beautiful, you are beautiful. You brought music back to life for me. It was fate that you were dancing that night and that I decided to come. Maybe we are soulmates in that sense. No matter how far away you are, I'll always find you." 

Jisung removed the dainty ring. An oval diamond was the centerpiece of the rose gold band. Around its borders, groups of snowflake-like diamonds sat, glinting under the artificial light. 

"But it's a lot easier to find someone when they're stuck with you for life." Minho giggled, tears beading his upper lip before he wiped them away with the palm of his hand. "Minho, will you marry me?" 

"Of course, I will." Minho fell into Jisung's laps with his arms wound tight around Jisung's neck. "And for the record," he whispered into his fiance's ear. "I found the ring in your condom box two weeks ago." 

"I hate you. We're getting divorced." 

(spoiler alert: they don't.)


End file.
